joshua and a package from quinn.

[Joshua Coil] *He's been here only a few times. And never with an actual package. Never really with a purpose other than Find Those In Charge, or Present Self to Find Out Who Is Packing. It is capitalized in his head. He pushes through the fence, with surprisingly little noise. He's big, however, so it takes some squeezing.*

[Bronwyn Montgomery] The Princess is already in one of the clearings, still in the process of adjusting to the new caern that's worlds different from the only other one she's ever known. She's dressed down, if Ralph Lauren jeans and riding boots and a cashmere sweater can be considered dressed down.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] It doesn't take much searching to find Wyrmbreaker tonight. On Caern patrol duty, he finds them. A dark shadow concealed amidst darker shadows, watching them, he reveals himself suddenly and clearly when he rises to his feet. The Shadow Lord is in wolf shape tonight, thick across the shoulders and heavy in the chest, black through and through. He sniffs in their direction, eyes narrowed, and then chuffs a short greeting.

[Joshua Coil] *He notes Bronwyn, and he nods in greeting, though the wolf seems to make him look for a bit longer. He pauses, and offers his throat to the wolf, all too instinctively. Even in homid, showing off the scar. He waits for approach.*

[Bronwyn Montgomery] "Joshua." She nods to him, eyes flickering back and forth between the man and the wolf. She seems most interested in his automatic reaction to the wolf, and her tongue runs along the bottom edge of her front teeth.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] After a moment's scrutiny, as much with nose and ears as with eyes, the black wolf comes down from the pile of debris he's taken as both his sentry-post and his camouflage. His descent is a series of short bounds, smooth and powerful, until all four paws are on solid earth again. He comes toward them, circling them once to inspect the pair from all angles. He doesn't bear in on them deliberately; doesn't crowd their space menacingly. Still, when he sniffs at them, when he comes close enough to sniff at them, his rage shivers through the air like sheet lightning.

Eventually he stops before them. And an eyeblink later: returning to homid form with the thoughtless ease of shapeshifting back to his birth shape. A man now instead of a wolf, though the blackness of the hair is the same, and the pale blue of the eyes.

"The Alpha of Honor's Forge," he greets Bronwyn, "follower of Peklenc. I'd comment on how unusual it is for a Child of Gaia to follow one of Thunder's brood, except I followed one of Falcon's for years."

He looks at Joshua then, eyes level, calmly curious. "Who are you?"

[Stefan Knezevic] The Theurge doesn't tend to make appearances out of nowhere as a rule. He's one who doesn't do a lot of sneaking up...not on people that he knows and isn't about to kill, anyway. He much prefers walking up to meet with people to appearing in front of them with a pop of air displacement.

Okay, that's a lie. He just doesn't do it in public.

This not being "public," so to speak, that's what happens. He appears, right at his Alpha's side in homid, his dedicated clothes for the day consisting of his leather jacket, a collarless indigo dress shirt, black slacks and boots. His hands fold behind his back, staying silent as he observes. Greetings are best saved for their proper point in time, when conversation is not ongoing.

[Joshua Coil] *He clears his throat.* Joshua Coil, Cliath, Full Moon Child of Cockroach. I am... new here. *His voice... it's like someone stuck a roll full of quarters in the garbage disposal.* I... are you... Lukas-rhya?

[Bronwyn Montgomery] Oh good. He already knows who she is. She studies him closely, trying to determine if this is a good thing or bad. Her attention quickly swings back to Joshua though as he introduces himself, taking in each word and weighing it.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Wyrmbreaker, Cold Victory," Lukas replies by way of affirmation. A moment ago he was feral, unmistakably wild. It's a little jarring to see him extend his hand for a handshake now: very courteous, very civil. "I suppose you already know the rest if you guessed who I am. Welcome to Chicago, Joshua. Have you a deedname?"

And -- a nod to Stefan as he appears.

[Bronwyn Montgomery] Her head tilts toward Stefan just the tiniest bit, her voice clear in his head. Good evening, Stefan. You do like to make an entrance, don't you?

[Joshua Coil] *He doesn't flinch, not in front of the Elder.* Fatal Error, rhya. I have a package for you from Ms. Quinn.

[Stefan Knezevic] Nonsense, fearless leader. If I wanted to make an entrance, I would have appeared in Warform, decked out in my dedicated ritual gear. This is subtlety.

He looks over at her, smiling faintly with a warm that his mental voice lacks, and looks back to Lukas and Joshua. His Tribal Elder gets a faint, respectful inclination of his head in response to the nod.

[Bronwyn Montgomery] The Princess looks all together too amused at something, attention subtly divided now.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [*dies* sorry, i'm multitasking and watching portal 2 vids. i gotta get this game!]

"Fatal Error," Lukas acknowledges, and lets go his handshake. "Ms. Quinn -- the Fianna kin? Let's see it."

[Joshua Coil] *He pulls out the package, containing the notebook, the d.v.d. tucked into it, and a wallet.* She said to bring it to you, rhya.

[Stefan Knezevic] He looks from Ahroun to Ahroun, head cocking slightly to the left. Whetever the package entails, he seems intrigued.

I understand we are to be neighbors, more or less, within the next few days. He glances over at his Alpha a moment before looking back to the two.

[Bronwyn Montgomery] You understand correctly. I signed the papers today. All the convenience of a packhouse without the invasion of privacy. What do you think of Fatal Error?

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Obviously, he can't watch the DVD right now. Lukas flips through the wallet, though, and then the notebook -- holding it up to the dock lights to read. There's a note tucked under the back cover. He glances it over, then folds it away.

"Interesting. Apparently some 'WISPIR' organization has been keeping track of paranormal events in the area. Did you know about this, or were you just the messenger?"

[Stefan Knezevic] I think that I've not yet spoken to him before. One run and this meeting here is my whole experience. So I think little at the moment.

His ears perk up at the news of an organization tracking the paranornal, and he frowns. "Oh, dear. That sounds concerning."

[Joshua Coil] I was just the messenger, Sir. As I have said, I just got here very recently, and I have been unaware of enemy movement on this place. I would like to get involved, however, if I can be of some help. *His voice is calm, but sternly serious.*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Good," Lukas replies. "Quinn mentions she and Adara stumbled onto this. Adara's been pretty dependable on the Brotherhood defense setup, so I think she'll be able to handle this, too. Get in touch with them; offer your help. I'll talk to the two of them about this directly too, and we'll figure out where to go from here.

"Are you staying at the Brotherhood, by the way?"

[Joshua Coil] No sir. I am staying with Melody Drake, a Cliath Shadowlord. She offered me a place to stay when I came here. *He nods.*

[Bronwyn Montgomery] "Melody is our packmate, Rhya."

[Skull-Like-Ox] He's lumbering through the caern. Nowhere to go, nothing particular in mind, just out wandering. He spots a little group of people and heads in that direction.

[Stefan Knezevic] His attention shifts briefly as he hears the heavy footfalls of the Fenrir Ahroun. His watches Ox as he approaches, silent a moment, before he smiles and nods. "Good evening, Skull-Like-Ox. How are you?"

[Skull-Like-Ox] He nods at Stefan. "Hi. I'm fine. How are you?"

[Bronwyn Montgomery] New game. Her attention shifts to Ox, locking on him as long as it takes to make her determinations.

Within seconds, she's looking to Joshua again.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [LESS LURK MORE PLAY.]

[ispy] [LURKS]

[Stefan Knezevic] "Well enough." He gives a light shrug. "Have you met my Alpha, or Lukas-rhya or Fatal Error?" Indicating each of them in turn.

[Skull-Like-Ox] "Um. No?"

[Joshua Coil] *He hears his name, though he can't look over - he's not been released by the Elder yet. Damn being so submissive!*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "I've met her," Lukas confirms. "Smart wolf. I just wanted to make sure you had a place to stay."

Skull-Like-Ox lumbers up; brick shithouse is the descriptor that comes to mind. "I'm Lukáš Wyrmbreaker," Lukas says by way of greeting, "also called Cold Victory. We haven't met, but the Guardians mentioned you came to town a few weeks ago. I'm your auspice alpha. Your tribal alpha is a Kora Eyjolfsdottir -- have you had a chance to introduce yourself yet?"

[Dorian Del Maro] [Bloody elitist Garou in the Caern. *stomps off to side room*]

[Joshua Coil] *He nods at Lukas, feeling a bit flattered by the 'smart' comment. Of all the things he's never been called before.* Thank you, rhya, *he says, not interrupting, trying to get his comment in before Lukas turns his attention on Ox. And THEN he looks back to Bronwyn and her Lord friend.*

[Bronwyn Montgomery] She nods to Joshua, giving him an encouraging smile in a rare show of kindness.

[Skull-Like-Ox] He inclines his head respectfully to Lukas. "I haven't had a chance yet. Sorry." He extends his hand. "I know you said they said I was here and all but just the same. I'm Brian Miller. Skull-Like-Ox. Cliath Modi, Son of Fenris." His introduction has clearly been memorized via repetition.

[Stefan Knezevic] He smiles a bit to Joshua...friendly, even a bit warm. "Good evening, Fatal Error. A pleasure to have the chance to speak with you finally."

[Joshua Coil] Good evening. I have heard good things about you from Bronwyn. *Is it really a pleasure to hear his voice, when it sounds like Batman from The Dark Knight had laryngitis? He offers out a hand.*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Actually, Lukas was calling Melody smart. He's too polite to correct the misconception, though. Besides, it wasn't as though he thought Joshua unintelligent, and the conversation has moved on.

He offers his hand to Brian as well, gripping the other's wrist for a moment. Tall and broadshouldered, it's rare that Lukas seems dwarfed by another, but Skull-Like-Ox manages it. Though standing an inch shorter, the Fenrir seems twice as broad: a veritable ball of muscle.

"You should get yourself over to her," he says -- a suggestion, not a reproach. "Her pack lives in the Cabrini-Green projects, in an abandoned church. Go by Umbral and you can't miss it.

"And on that note," he adds, "I need to resume Caern patrols. Josh -- thanks for bringing me the information. I'll get in touch with Quinn and Adara and clear the details up. If any of you want to pitch in," this is to everyone at large, "talk to one of them."

[Rory] It is not the shrines she visits tonight, as she is but a prospective, but the Graves, instead. There is one in particular that she has ensured was cleaned off, with fresh flowers laid at the head, with a quiet word murmured to the body that decomposes beneath. He is not there, she knows that, but it is comforting none-the-less. He was one of few that accepted her as she was, and she never forgot that.

Even when he was laughing at her inability to smoke weed.

She pats the stone, and stands, before she starts to make her way through the Caern, and - naturally - toward the voices in the distance. There are several things that people notice about her - one, the wasted breeding, two, the blood red curls, and three? her tendency to hide in the shadows, to attempt not to draw attention to herself, and once she's been noticed - her blush.

And, of course, all that Rage.

[Skull-Like-Ox] He nods at Lukas. "I will. Thank you." A broad, genuine smile.

[Stefan Knezevic] "Mm...I am happy to hear it. Hopefully all true things." The tone is gently teasing as looks at Bronwyn and back, chuckling. He takes the offered hand, shaking it.

When Lukas makes to go, he looks to him and nods. "Have an excellent evening, Cold Vicory-rhya."

[Bronwyn Montgomery] "It was lovely to meet you, Rhya." She nods to Lukas, spine loosening just a touch.

[Joshua Coil] *His hand doesn't squeeze Stefan's though it is quite clear he could. He nods only once, not quite managing to meet the Lord's eyes, before he backs off first.*

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Likewise," he says, nods to them all, and turns to go. A few paces away he drops back to wolf shape and -- since this area is well-guarded by a growing crowd of Garou -- moves off to quieter stretches of the bawn.

[thanks for the RP, all! i'm failing at this multitasking thing, so i'm bowing out!]

so much for the yankees.

[John Brendan Cavanagh] The cafe closes Sundays at 2:00 p.m. after brunch, and remains closed through lunch on Tuesday. It's the staff's limited version of a weekend. Low lights are on inside, giving the place that warm illumination - that promise - that empty spaces so often have when they are quiet, still, orderly, awaiting use. In the handful of months it has been open, the place has already attracted its own handbills posted in the window - roommate wanted, lost dog, writing group, poet's corner - and there are a pair of political signs in the window, too - one for a young black woman running for city councl, another for a sharp looking white man running for the Illinois State House of Delegates. The postings are enough to give the sense of community, without cluttering up the windows or obscuring the view inside.

The picture windows are spattered with raindrops from the last downpour, the night sky obscured by these fast-moving clouds, the storms that pop up with a front over the prairie, that pour through and then disappear into quick-churning sky. Sidewalks are damp, the storm sewers are choked with runoff, clotted with fallen leaves, trash, the usual urban detritus.

The restaurant's side yard - a handful of picnic tables on a grassy lawn, the umbrellas removed for the season - now houses a half-assembled graveyard, built from floam and plywood. One of the "tombstones" has been pushed into the soft, soaked earth, the rest are stacked between the picnic tables, abandoned when the sky opened, and lightning scissored through the sky. The door to the detached garage - tucked behind the building proper, just visible from the street is lifted open, yellow light cuts out into the dark yard from inside. JB and Jose - his sous chef - are sitting just under the shelter of the open garage, in plastic lawn chairs, beers in hand, watching the rain.

"Yo man - " Jose says, finishing off his beer with a great swing, standing and reaching for JB's hand as he does so. " - it don't look like it's lettin' up no time soon, man. We get it done tomorrow, that's all - " They clasp forearms, the pair silhouetted against the interior lights of the garage, Jose shorter and squatter, the look of a bulldog about him. This time, JB does not object, insist that the damn rain is going to let up, or the Phillies might still pull it out, or the fucking Eagles are worth watching this year.

Instead, he just salutes the other with a tip of the neck of his beer bottle, ironic that, drops it back to the hard plane of his stomach, watches the rain as it streams from the sky, ruining his fucking plans.

[Alexa] Being a Strider, bearing the weather is something that comes with the way of life. Since Gina had gone awol and hasn't returned home, has left Alexa drifting through the city. The weather is getting steadily cooler, and if she's deciding to stay here instead of moving on to warmer pastures, she's going to have to do something about finding an area to stay in. There's the Brotherhood and the Church, as well as little pockets of areas where stow aways and homeless find themselves. None are too pleasant, honestly. Most suck out the spirit and replace it with this awful hopelessness. There's a vast difference between the city's homeless and wanderers like Alexa and she feels it acutely when she's tucked into a back alley and watching the old, with their rotting teeth, warm up around small fires and drinking from bottles.

She's got her back pack on, it's wet but it's the sort that water slides off for the most part, protecting all her worldly possessions within. Her hair is not so lucky, nor is her clothes, which are both wet, making hair darker, curlier, and has the red of the t.shirt deeper, clinging and the front of her thighs wet. It's not as if she's walked in the down pour, having ducked under trees or stayed close to buildings, avoiding the slant of rain, but she's walking in the lighter drizzle of it. This is like a dance, pausing here, while the drumming of rain picks up tempo, and sliding out when it calms, boots tapping through puddles quietly.

Alexa had paused outside of Cafe Lulu, spotting it was closed. She knew it would be. She's read the opening and closing hours many times over. But she had stopped to look at the new posters in the window, checking them over for anything of interest. The weight of her bag shifts on her shoulders, redistributing the weight.

Voices make her step to the side of the building, standing there, looking down into the light at the end of the darkness, past the tombstones that stand, one fallen. She finds herself glancing over a squat man leaving, and the other reclined back like its a sun lounge, shoulders slumped. Alexa wonders what he's thinking about.

[John Brendan Cavanagh] The rest of the Halloween decorations - the purchased lights, the bales of straw meant to be stuffed down into clothes so worn they'd do no one any good keeping the cold out an the heat in - are scattered about the neatly kept garage. Two or three coils of those lights, deep purple, are half-unfurled on a work table that is little more than a piece of wood mounted and clamped to a pair of folding saw horses. Other tools, are visible on pegboards in the back, a scattering of sports equipment as well. Baseball mitts and bat, an old basketball - well loved, oft-used - is rolled to the side of the garage door, just inside.

Rainwater hums through the downspouts, sluices over the awning mounted on the front of he restaurant. There's a narrow concrete sidewalk leading down the side yard - a second full lot, functionally. Over the past few weeks, JB has made progress anchoring the loose posts on the fence, pulling out and replacing the rotten boards. Phase 1 of "we're going to have a terrace, goddamnit, next year."

If they're around next year.

Now, he has the radio on, the low drone of some sports talk station he can hardly stand to listen to, which he listens to nonetheless, and he's watching the rain move, listening to it drum out over the metal roof of the garage, fill the furrows of the yard, the slow-dying grass, with muck. Waiting for the lightning to come again, and split the sky.

Then a figure at the side of the restaurant, a shape against the darkness. He lifts up his hand to shade his eyes, squint against the glare of raindrops, the sharp contrast between the illuminated garage and the dark yard. He's frowning, thoughtful, but his face is cast in shadow and she cannot see that. Just the gesture as he lifts his hand and studies her, trying to pick out details at a distance.

[Alexa] "It's not very sunny at this hour," her voice cuts across the distance, still somehow quiet, accented too since English is not her native language, but she knows it well, "but the sky is putting on a nice light show, tonight." Tilting her head, she looked up towards the sky, back behind her where the street is more opened and not obscured by the rise of buildings around her. Rain falls on her face, making her squint, and she doesn't bother wiping it away. It's not as fresh as the rain that falls in the middle of open plains, polluted here by the city traffic, but it's cold and stings her cheeks a little, drawing the skin paler then summer has it.

Glancing back, she blinked water from her eyelashes and watched him curiously. She's on the verge of asking if she can come in, but holds it back. It's not that bad out, not even when the thunder cracks and the lightning flashes distantly. Alexa likes thunderstorms. They fill the air with this vibrant electricity. It's like the Gods are talking, telling who is still boss. She admires that.

[John Brendan Cavanagh] He breathes out a laugh, one of those subvocal chuckles that comes out darker, vibrating through his chest. The shading hand falls from his brow as he recognizes her voice. "Here I thought the storm gods were raging over the outcome of the NLCS." The neighborhood is transitional at best, but the rain has been steady enough that the street people here have found what shelter they could - abandoned rowhouses, derelict doorframes, awnings, bus stops, bridges, the usual. JB lifts up his bottle of beer in a subtle, secondary toast.

"You want a beer?" he says then, not bothering to scold her for standing out in the rain. Though for a second you'll catch your death is on the tip of this tongue, one of those sayings. He stops himself at the last minute, though, and whatever shadow that pulls across his open featues is obscured by the position, the deep shadow over his tall frame, backlit as he is by the light inside the garage.

[Alexa] "Flooding all the trash out." Maybe she's talking about the game, her hint of mirth certainly indicates it. She doesn't follow any sport, not really, but picks up enough to be able to banter with it. He doesn't need to ask her twice. She makes her way towards where he's sitting in his garage, door opened up as it is.

When she's under the shelter, she sets her bag off to the sides, sliding her arms out of it with small effort and breathes easier without its weight. Her hair is wrung out off to the side, and she wipes her damp palms on the back of her jeans. "Don't mind if I do." Beer was always welcomed. Not so much because it was beer, but because it was a drink shared, and she always liked that sort of thing. Even when luna is fat in the sky, shifting the tides of Rage and moods.

[Rory] She's been by here more times than anyone could know - especially after her little... conversation... with Fire-Claws - though she's never shown her face. The kin confused her, likely as much as she did him - for which she blames herself. It is the way of things.. 9 times of 10, it really is her fault.

It's been raining, storming in fact, and fire-red curls are dripping and clinging to her cheek, her jaw, her neck. It only seems to enhance the color though, as the shimmer of light does to green eyes. She is without her pack tonight, in tattered jeans and a t-shirt under a light jacket. Her shoes are wet, with water darkening denim in a way that suggests someone likes to jump in puddles...

She watches the one man leave, and then Alexa approach just before she has decided to step into the open herself. So she watches, for now, until she proves herself the worst bogeyman ever...

and sneezes.

[John Brendan Cavanagh] The sound of the rain is sharper inside. She can hear that now, the staccato beat of rain on the metal roof. The temperature is fractionally warmer in the garage, but although there's an electric heater pushed away from the wall in the north corner - a column-like thing, with a squat, industrial appearance - it isn't on. The space is big enough for maybe one and a half cars, but it's clearly used as a workshop instead. He has spread remnant rugs over the old oil stains down the center of the concrete pad, and the interior walls are bright with paint, new in the past few months.

He stands up, the plastic feet of the chair scraping against the concrete, and shakes his head, a fan's clear despair. It's warm enough out that he's in short sleeves and worn jeans that hang on his lean hips. The t-shirt is a dark green, the picture of an Eagle underneath a P on the center, not his usual concert tees, fitted at the shoulders and over his broad chest, but loose at the waist, like it's been stretched and pulled, aged by time. His shadow distorts and elongates as he leaves the chair then bends to tug open a mini-fridge, tucked away under one of the work tables lining the walls, picks a beer from the two six-packs socked away inside, and opens it for her with a hiss of escaping carbonation.

"Here," he holds it out, turning with a frown at the sneeze, squinting through the rain and shadows at the dimly backlit figure by front of the restaurant. Shaking his dark head quietly, he crosses the room again. Someone on the radio is ranting about pitching in a distinctive American accent that puts Alexa in mind of NYC - one of those ethnic buroughs, Queens or the Bronx - but which is qualitatively different. Then he starts in about Andy Reid, just as JB reaches over to flick the radio off. "Have a seat." - he tells her, indicating the empty plastic chair.

A glance down at her backpack. Then, quiet, back up to her face. "You on the move?" - this note of query that is interested, but not intrusive.

[Alexa] She gives a sharp glance back at the sound of a sneeze and attributes it to somebody passing by or standing out of the rain, since she hadn't seen anybody standing there just moments ago when she had been there. Must have been a magical thing or she hadn't taken her Matrix pills that morning.

Turning back to John, she takes the beer from him and folds herself into the plastic chair. Wet clothes squeak against the hard plastic until she's comfortable, crossing over the lean length of her legs. Her boot laces are red, dark because of the wet. "Thanks," and she means it.

He's asking her about her bag, wondering if she's on the move again. She's thoughtful before she replies, taking a sip of the beer, savouring the taste that dances across the buds of her tongue. "I'm not sure," she answered honestly, casting her gaze from the shadows of the small area by the shop, back over to the kinfolk, "maybe in a few days. Maybe not for a few weeks." She finds herself smiling slowly at him. "I'm not terribly decisive."

"How have you been?" Interested.

[Rory] She winkles her nose, sneezes again, then wipes her nose with the back of her hand. The noise startled her out of her thoughts, and made her decision for her. She had intended to catch him alone, to talk, and maybe have it go better than it did before, but that was not to be. At least, not yet. Someday, it'll simply have to be.

For now, though, she makes her choice, and steps from the shadows she had hidden in, and makes her way toward the garage that houses her kin and the Strider - the Strider that hadn't seen her as she came from the front, and Rory waited on the side of the Garage. No Matrix, just position. She hesitates a moment, and lifts a hand to wave with that same shy little grin she had last time, ducking her head to peek through her curls.

"Hi."

[Sinclair] It's been 'cold' long enough now in Chicago that Sinclair doesn't spend as much time outside. Her skin is losing the tan it picked up briefly over spring and summer, the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks a little more visible. She wears her hair down, long and straight and wheat-gold. Her pale eyes are lined with black, enough to offset the dark circles under her eyes -- in a cursory glance. Closer inspection of the Galliard makes one think: tired. Without knowing what she is, most might think: coming down with something. After all, 'tis the season. There's a faint, unhealthy paleness to her right now.

The waning half of her moon is coming. Tomorrow, really, though right now the transition is enough to make her stick close to her packmates. Sleep at the Loft, stay further away from the mortals who cannot stand her and the Kinfolk who barely can. Her temper is shorter than usual, and given the reputation she earned when she first came to Chicago, most see it as business-as-usual.

The difference between then and now is the amount of effort she expends on self-control. One can almost see it in how she walks, with steady, purposeful steps alongside her quite-a-bit-taller Alpha. It's hard to miss the athletic grace of the blonde, perhaps more pronounced than Lukas's because she is not the -- bluntly put -- brick wall of muscle that he's become.

In a longsleeved thermal shirt (black) and jeans that should probably have been retired awhile ago (blue) and dingy sneakers (magenta), with her hair covering her ears and her neck, little about her makes the inhabitants of this area -- what few might be out in the rain -- raise their eyebrows. It isn't the metal or the ink that disturbs people, though. It isn't how casually and comfortably she walks alongside the swarthy man who makes the hairs on the backs of their neck stand on end.

It's the way she looks at them, if she looks in their direction, like she's considering whether or not they're the weakest of the herd. Whether it's worth running them down and clenching her teeth on their necks, shaking them like rag dolls. As though she's telling them with those glances not to forget that their presence at the watering hole is permitted only because right now, the lion isn't hungry.

"Maybe next year," she's saying to Lukas, like she's said this something like twenty times in the last hour.

[Wyrmbreaker] The storm god might not be raging over the outcome of the NLCS, but there's every possibility they're thundering over the outcome of the ALCS. He's the patron of the Unbroken pack, after all, that cadre of Shadow Lords and Silver Fangs largely out of New York City (and one Glass Walker out of Kansas), and their Alpha, at least, has been howling about the Yankees since Friday. Literally, at one point: going into the Umbra atop 520 North Kingsbury and pouring his heart full of woe out into the cold clear autumn.

He's not howling right now. But he's still rather morose, trudging with his coat collar up and his head bare to the rain, hands in his pockets.

"See, I knew it was a bad sign when we lost against the Sox on the last day of the season," he says, possibly for the tenth time since Oct. 22nd. Possibly for the fiftieth. "Didn't I say that? I totally said it. I knew it. We opened against the Sox this season, and we lost. We never quite shook that off. I figured if we could close on a win, that'd be a good omen, but if we lost, then that's that. A sign. And look: it was. Fucking Texas. Texas, Sinclair, what the hell."

Maybe next year, Sinclair says. It's the twenty-second time, actually, and he responds the same way as he had the twenty-one times before it: with a great, heaving sigh.

"Yeah. Next year." Lukas raises his head. Cafe Lulu. "Want to get a drink?"

[Sinclair] Make that a hundred times since Friday. Sinclair's doing good at this point not to be snapping oh for fuck's sake get OVER IT ALREADY at Wyrmbreaker, who she calls -rhya though they're both Fosterns.

Maybe she's too cold. Sinclair's got a thick wool peacoat about a size too big on over her thermal. It's navy blue, nothing special, but she wishes about now that it had a hood. Her hair is more noticably wet than Lukas's, the drops of rain turning it brass-colored, then dark.

"Yes," she says evenly, calmly, "you said that." about eight thousand fucking times.

Maybe next year, she says, when he wails about Texas. She can't argue with that. It's Texas. So: what the fuck. It had to be fate. Ill fate. A curse, maybe. There are probably gypsies and witch doctors in Texas.

She keeps all that to herself. Puts her hands deeper into her pockets. "It's closed," she says, looking over at the cafe. And then at Alexa, Rory, JB. Her head tips to the side, eyes focusing more for a moment on the redhaired metis. Her nostrils flare slightly when her gaze flicks to JB. She straightens her head a touch. "We could get out of the rain, though," she says, though neither of them seem particularly bothered by it.

[John Brendan Cavanagh] His dark eyes touch her face as she muses over her plans. A few days, a few weeks. The light in here is bright enough to be obscuring, necessary for whatever work he squeezes in out here at odd hours. There is a sort of stillness about him as she speculates, this dark line that separates an ordinary life from the strange, shiftless world of the Garou. He doesn't say anything, though, doesn't comment on her plans, or lack thereof. He's an open book, but there's just stillness, and then a brief, wry look - "Let us know if you go, would you?" Quiet, that.

There's warm, yellow light in the windows of the second story of the old yellow house onto which the brick dining room has been built out, the living apartments above. Then, " - yeah," is his first answer to how have you been. In response, he gestures at the half-built graveyard, the loops of purple lights coiled on the worktable, the decorations un-decorated. "Supposed to be a block party Thursday night. Safe trick or treat, and I promised Lucy we'd have a graveyard by then. Here's hoping the rain lets up - " that's when he turns, sees Rory, her shy smile superimporsed over her wall of range, resolving out of the rain.

Hi she says, and the kinfolk's jaw goes hard, his dark eyes still. His free hand flexes, open and closed, but these are the only signs of tension. "Hi," he says, looking he directly in the eye, even now, his expression more closed with it. The beer in is bottle is almost gone. JB tips the bottle up, looks at it mournfully, then reaches, stretching, to set it aside.

Standing, he asks both of them, " - you want something to eat? Glancing from one to the other, "I'll open up. Go around front and I'll let you in. Looks like there are other customers, too." Then he's standing, hustling them out toward the front door. He goes in the back, through the kitchens. In less than a minute, the lights that illuminate the stylized coffee mug from the cafe's previous incarnation are on, the dining room lights, the lights behind the counter, making the rain glow. Thirty seconds later, the rangy man - no chef's jacket tonight, just the Eagle's t-shirt and worn jeans - is opening the front door, flicking on the OPEN sign, letting in whoever wants to eat.

[Alexa] She had offered a small smile, nodding when he asked her to let him know - presumably so that he is not left wondering if she's dead when she stops coming for beer at random intervals. Rory arrives, her Rage strong against the meekness of her appearance, and Alexa reacts to the rage more then she does the illusion of the physical features, by being a little more alert, defensive.

They're ushered into the cafe, to head around the front. By the time John opens up the door, has the lights on to indicate it's open, Alexa has left with her beer and her bag, heading back out into the rain, in the opposite direction to where the others approach.

[Rory] He looks at her and his mouth goes hard. She tips her head slightly, curiously. Their last meeting did not go so well, an though she is quite used to ire being directed at her... he confuses her. She offended him, and she still isn't sure how, or why, only sure that somehow she must start anew, and make it good.

He asks if they want something to eat, and her brow furrows... then, with a glance up at the rain, and a hopeful smile that's achingly innocent in the face of all that rage....

"Cocoa?"

And then he's shooing them around front, and with a duck of her head, she obeys and goes around to wait at the front of the door. Where she finds Sinclair and Lukas.

If she was aware of the regard of the Gallaird, she makes no indication of it, simply offering them both the same shy smile she has the others.

"Hi." Simple is sometimes best.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Maybe they'll -- "

The OPEN sign flicks on. Lights come on inside. There's John Brendan: not exactly the sort of fellow you'd expect to be running a place called Cafe Lulu. Then again, Lukas isn't entirely sure who he'd expect to run Cafe Lulu. Or Brasserie Jo. Or, for that matter, any of the trendy little eateries he seems to frequent.

"See?" Lukas says, outside: as though he'd caused the restaurant to open by force of will. And, seeing Rory, "Hey, Rory. Long time. Wasn't sure if you'd left town."

He pulls the front door of the restaurant open. And, since they were hardly the sort to want or appreciate chivalry -- precedes them into the cafe. He holds the door after himself, though.

[Sinclair] One would have to be blind to miss the tension floating around, but Sinclair seems curious more than put off. People seem tense and it doesn't seem to be because of her. It's quite novel.

She catches the door and walks in after Lukas, giving Rory an upward nod. It is, despite how casual the gesture is, respectful. "Hey."

Then, turning towards the owner -- or manager, or whatever, she's making assumptions here because he apparently has the authority to open this place whenever he damn well pleases -- she gives a flick of a wave. "Thanks, man."

[John Brendan Cavanagh] And then there's John Brendan, tall and rangy, broad-shouldered and fit, with a huge tribal piece dark crawling up his right arm, from the wrist - where he wears a broad silicon message bracelet, and a handful of neon silly bandz - all the way up past his elbow, disappearing beneath the seeves of his fitted Eagles tee. Another tattoo is briefly visible inside his left forearm, an array of chef's knives inked in blackwork. His jeans are held together by holes, and held up by a brown belt with a broad buckle that is not quite country in origin.

There's a register by the door, a bakery display case softly illuminated, and empty now. Warm colors and wood tones dominate the space. "Counter seating," he tells them, with a gesture toward the long counter/bar that dominates one wall, curving back from the register toward the kitchen, where bright lights cut through portholes worked in theswinging metal doors. " - and a limited late night menu." He has an easy grin, and he turns it on when the strangers walk in, past him, holding the door open himself.

To Rory, when she follows, " - you know them?" It's quiet, he's following the pair with a glance, looking back down at th shy creature whose shyness belies what she is. And he cannot keep that band of tension out of his jaw.

"

[John Brendan Cavanagh] (IGNORE THE STRAY " )

[Wyrmbreaker] [no. *takes it in, shelters it, keeps as pet "!*]

[Sinclair] [*can't ignore it! runs after, picks up, takes to a " shelter--- HAHAHAHHA]

[Rory] She blinks as Lukas suggests she may have left, and then simply shakes her head, damp curls clinging along the line of her jaw. She offers a shy smile, and a returned not for Sinclair as she steps inside.

When JB asks his question, she nods, slightly. For a moment, she hesitates before giving introductions - though they all know of her...affliction. She takes a breath, and then, softly, "Lukas. Fostern Mull Foon Elder." There's one. She doesn't notice her mistake, though she is certain she's making them. "Sinclair. Fostern."

Then, to the Unbroken. "JB. Mine." Her kin, she means, though there is likely no doubt. And somehow, though she claims him as hers, there's the innate expectation that they know she is not claiming a mate. At all. Ever. Just a ward.

[Wyrmbreaker] They don't look like a couple, the two fierce strangers that file out of the rain and into Cafe Lulu. They don't stand close enough; they don't have that certain air, that exclusion-of-all-else, that couples have. They're familiar with each other, though. Close friends, maybe. Siblings. Half-siblings, maybe, given that all they have in common is the blue of their eyes.

And even that -- not quite the same. The male's eyes are pale, clear as a hawk's. The female's eyes are opaque, richly hued.

They sit at the counter. Rory makes introductions while Lukas is looking about, shrugging out of his wool coat and folding it aside. Somehow, with the coat off, he seems paradoxically larger; as though freed from the deliberately subtle cut of the coat. His shoulders are vast, his back a solid wedge.

"I'm a Shadow Lord," he completes the introduction. "She's a Glass Walker. We're packmates. Is this place new? I don't remember seeing it before."

[John Brendan Cavanagh] JB's behind the counter when Rory begins the introductions. He's familiar there, pulling out a trio of menus from a stack by the cash register, searching out a trio of place settings from the depleted supply back there. He hasn't turned on all the interior lights, so the rest of the restaurant is in quiet shadow.

Mine, Rory says, and JB immediately corrects her, "Fianna. John Brendan Cavanagh," he meets Wyrmbreaker's eyes, then Sinclair's as Lukas finishes the introductions. There's tension in him with their presence, tension he cannot and does not bother to hide, but otherwise his manner doesn't change much. Maybe a bit more formal. Maybe a hint less relaxed.

"Grand opening was the beginning of September," he tells Lukas, then grins, not as easy, not as wide as he would under normal circumstances. " - so yeah," pride there, he has his wide hands planted on the edge ofthe bar. " - we're new. You guys want a drink? We've just got a beer and wine license, but if you want something harder, I can grab it while I'm getting her cocoa."

[Rory] He corrects her, and she ducks her head again, hiding behind her curls as she takes a seat at the counter. She doesn't pick up the menu he sets before her, merely watches him through her lashes as she chews absently on her bottom lip.

Then he says he's getting her cocoa, and that little smile returns, shy and thrilled all at once. It is, after all, the little things.

[Sinclair] There's no need for Sinclair to add her tribe herself as Lukas does, explaining their relationship just as Rory explained their species. Shrugging out of her coat and taking a seat at the bar, Sinclair perks slightly when she gets a menu. His quick correction of Rory's introduction of him as mine doesn't get a raised eyebrow. And he doesn't get the eye contact he's willing to give when he hands her menu over, because Sinclair isn't looking at him. Not directly.

She flips open the menu and looks it over. "So how limited is this late-night menu?" she asks thoughtfully, perhaps a trifle warily.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Congratulations. It looks like a great place. I'll pass the word on for you. And I'll..." Lukas snags the drinks list off its holder, flipping it back and forth before deciding, "...get a double of Royal Lochnagar. Neat. And ... " now he's skimming the menu, clear eyes flying down the page, then lighting up suddenly. "Gyros! If that's on your late-night menu, that is."

And he snaps the menu shut and passes it back over the bar.

[John Brendan Cavanagh] Casting a - wary - glance at Rory as she chews on her lip, and studies him from underneath her lashes, JB looks back at Sinclair as she glances over the menu. Hands braced on the bar-countertop, he has that aura of patience that comes from a long life in the restaurant industry. Long hours of boredom followed by the violent frenzy of a rush on the line, and so on. He's comfortable in the space, at home even without the staff usually here to explain the dishes and so on. And literally at home, with the apartment above the restaurant.

He glances up once at the ceiling. "The late night menu's what I can throw together from the walk-in. We've got the lamb, though. Let me see if there's pita left - "

So saying, he leaves them waiting and disappears into the back, returning in a handful of minutes with Rory's cocoa and Wyrmbreaker's Scotch, neat, sliding them over the bar, first the cocoa, then the Scotch.

[Rory] His glance is wary, and her's is still filled with curiosity, with concern, and not a little confusion. His is a story she has not heard - may never hear. In contrast though, when the cocoa arrives, her smile is that of pure joy in the simple things, the little things, the fact that there's whip topping curled and floating in the hot chocolate. She runs a finger through the whip topping, and plops it between her lips with a little sound of delight at the back of her throat.

She doesn't ask for anything specific from the menu she doesn't read, content with the hot cup cradled between her fingers.

[Sinclair] "Oh my god, Royal Lochnagar! No way! You never drink that," Sinclair mouths off, still looking over her menu. She flaps it down and looks at JB for a moment. "Don't overserve him. He's still mourning the Yankees and may end up crying on the bar that they're cursed or something."

She goes back to reading while the owner-chef-dude-guy goes back to get the Scotch and the cocoa. She hasn't ordered yet. She's indecisive tonight. Or so it seems, until she drops the menu and lets it fold shut again. "I'll have a gyro, too, and if there's no pita I will just have meat. And whatever loose-leaf-fancy-pot iced tea you have that is A, caffeinated and B, not a bitch to make." She beams tightly, a toothy and over-the-top grin that snaps away a second later.

[Wyrmbreaker] There's a little hiccup in the middle of Sinclair's never, because that's when Wyrmbreaker kicks her under the counter. Subtly, too. He's a Shadow Lord, after all. His face doesn't even change.

"Don't be ridiculous," he says. "Yankees fans don't weep. Sox fans do. Wait. You're not a Sox fan, are you, JB? And, yes. If you don't have pitas I'll just have lamb. And rice, maybe. And hummus."

A tumbler of Scotch comes sliding smoothly down the bar. Lukas palms it with a quiet, solid thwack, slides it between his hands once, and then takes a sip. Passes it to Sinclair.

"Just in case you want to drink a grown-up drink for once," he quips.

[John Brendan Cavanagh] "Sorry - " JB says, smoothly when he's returned with the drinks, given Rory the hot chocolate that she delights over, and with a still, faintly solemn face, taking the menus one by one from Rory, Lukas, Sinclair. " - can't serve Yankees fans, here. Can't stand the American League, anyway. Designated fucking hitters - " he scoffs, " - the hell are the pitchers afraid of? Joe Blanton hit a home fucking run - " and with that, and the Eagle's tee, and the Mike Schmidt jersey mounted on the mirror behind the bar, it's clear that he is not a Sox fan.

Philadelphia, native son.

Back to Rory, then, a look, measured. " - you want a gyro or something else to eat?"

[Rory] She starts, and peeks up at him, caught licking another fingerfull of whipped cream. She swallows, and then lifts a shoulder into a little shrug. "Anything easy."

She honestly has no idea what he serves here, other than the divine mac and cheese she had last time.

[Sinclair] "OW!" she yells, at the kick under the table. Her reaction isn't subtle. Her kick back isn't either. "You bastard," she snaps, and it sounds for a second like there's real venom in it. Sounds that way, perhaps, to anyone but Lukas himself. He knows what Sinclair looks like, flecks of blood on her face and matting her hair, a black axe in each hand, snarling at him. And he knows that's just exercise. He knows this is just play.

But then it's back to making fun of him. Yankees fan and all. Without looking at Lukas she reaches over and waves a hand in his face, batting at his nose, when he mocks her drink choices. "Hush, you. Tea is very grown-up."

[John Brendan Cavanagh] (gah. guys. thank you for playing but I just looked at the time. ZOMG. need sleeeeep. I'm'a post Mr. JB out. :)

Anything easy - Rory says, the kinsman gives her another look, still closed, dark eyes following the movement of her hand as she licks away the whipped cream from her finger. Then she's peeking up at him from behind a curtain of curls, this monster underneath whose rage he can feel beating against his skin. He swallows against this rising - sensation in the back of his throat, this physical unease with that disconnect. "Sure," he returns, forcing a smile. "Gyros it is. All around."

"Long Island Iced Tea is grown up," JB tells Sinclair. "Loose leaf fancy pot tea is pretty frou-frou. Either frou-frou or late modern southern grandmother." Wry. " - your choice."

Then he return to the kitchen, emerging maybe ten minutes later with the gyros, a bowl of freshly-fried potato chips that they can pass about among themselves, and a loose-leaf frou-frou iced tea for Sinclair. He serves them, then excuses himself to go upstairs, to check on his daughter Lucy, tuck her in. He'll be back down later, insist that dinner was on the houe, drinking a beer as they finish their meals..

[John Brendan Cavanagh] (thank you for the scene!)

[Wyrmbreaker] There's a moment, when the menu is taken out of his hands and he's informed that he will not be served here, that something animal and vicious in Lukas flares to the surface. It's there in his eyes like a lightning-stroke. There in the air around him, which tenses suddenly and thickens,

and dissipates again. He lifts his scotch for a mild swallow, and then he reminds himself of where he is, who he is, who John Brendan is, what humanity is. What a joke is. And then he smiles, and the very air around him relaxes.

"Bah. Sour grapes from the oft-defeated," he says. "We'll talk when the Phillies make it to their twenty-seventh World Series."

[Rory] She blinks in confusion at JBs reactions to her, but gratefully takes the offer food with a soft murmured thanks. She tips her head, slightly, and then digs in happily to the gyro.

Only when he slips upstairs to tuck in his daughter does she sigh. "I gon't det him."

[John Brendan Cavanagh] That moment - in that moment - the kinsman goes absolutely still. He watches Wyrmbreaker with a solid wariness, his body tense, unmoving. Waiting for the moment to dissipate, or a blow to land. That tribal tattoo on his right forearm moves, some voluntary spasm of the muscles, and his molars grind together, the half-smirking grin that accompanies such sports-fan-related trash talk frozen on his mouth.

Then the air relaxes. Another Yankees fan, and JB would start in about buying championships, the usual complaints turned over, tossed back at him. Instead, he just shakes his head, feeling that sourness in the back of his throat from the stress hormones spiking his blood. "Quality over quantity." - is all he says efore he disappears.

[John Brendan Cavanagh] (and now for poofing for reals! night y'all. :) )

[Sinclair] [night!]

[Sinclair] "Oh! Oh he's mouthy!" Sinclair says, of JB's agreement with Lukas. He calls her drink frou-frou. "Look, buddy..." she starts, and it sounds -- as her behavior with Lukas earlier looked vicious -- genuinely threatening. So she stops. And she doesn't go on. Not even to tease. Not even to play. She presses her tongue against one of her incisors and quiets.

She does get the tea, though. Which she enjoys, thank you very much, grown-up or not. "You are so cocky," she mutters to him, shaking her head.

Altogether, they've made their poor host more than a little uncomfortable. Natural reactions. Sinclair's more aware now of how primitively dangerous she feels, now matter how much Rory and Lukas's rage eclipses her own. She watches JB only briefly after he disappears then returns, and gives her food.

"Thanks," she says, again without meeting his eyes, and tucks into her gyro. Rory sighs and Sinclair's eyes flick over to him, one eyebrow raising. "What's there to get?"

[Wyrmbreaker] A gentler wolf might apologize for frightening Rory's kin, but Wyrmbreaker is not quite that. He doesn't lash out like a truly brutal wolf might. Like a weaker wolf might. He controls himself, controls his primitive reaction, his primal urge to guard his meal, and he registers in his mind that the kinsman was not afraid to meet his eyes and to make a pretense at continuing the trash-talking. That's a sort of strength, a willpower that Lukas can respect.

His gyro arrives. Sinclair calls him cocky, and he takes a big bite and snorts a laugh. Then Rory sighs over his kinsman, and the two wolves of the Unbroken may as well mirror each other with their blue eyes, single eyebrows going up.

What's there to get? Sinclair wants to know. Wyrmbreaker is arguably blunter: "Getting him isn't really your concern. He's kin. You're metis. If I'm not mistaken about Fianna attitudes about such things, your tribe would want you to stay as far from him as possible."

[Rory] She starts to formulate an answer for Sinclair, but then Wyrmbreaker speaks, and it is her turn for brows to shoot up to her hairline. She looks at the food on her plate, on the hot cocoa that she was enjoying, and then something... something... snaps.

It's subtle, but noticeable. Her jaw tightens, her hands do briefly, and then she slowly pushes the plate away, and stands. Her brows furrow as she works to formulate the words that she will mess up anyway, despite the care with which she speaks - softly, but with a confidence that has slowly grown over time, yet is still a fragile, fragile thing.

"Assumptions, rhya, are dangerous. I am the only Fianna heft lere. He is my kin, ry mesponsibility. By 'get', I meant understand. Waller smords are easier at times for me. Your assumptions are disrespectful - to me, but more so to ky Min."

Here, her eyes raise and she meets Lukas' gaze with determination, fully expecting to be punished for this outburst, but knowing it needs to be said, be heard. For her, even more so than them.

"I am mule. I am also the caretaker of the Ficago Chianna. I nill wot sully that with accusations and assumptions. YOU nill wot either." a beat. "-rhya.

[Sinclair] When Rory stands, Sinclair doesn't leap over and knock the metis to the ground. She does, however, lean back from where she was about to tuck into her gryo, her back straightening and her eyes turning to the Fiann. She doesn't say a word. She stares at the metis, though, her pale eyes unblinking.

[Wyrmbreaker] "Rory," Wyrmbreaker begins to speak before the Fianna is quite finished: as soon as he's finished chewing his biteful of gyro, "if you don't show me the respect for your elder the Litany tells you to, then I won't feel obligated to show you the respect for my lesser that the Litany tells me to. Put simply: if you keep spitting rhya at me while you lecture me like some errant cub, I'll put your face through this counter."

His eyes flick up to the redhead at last, and they are icy.

"I have made myself clear, I hope."

There's no pause for confirmation. He goes on, "As for your kin. I have neither accused nor assumed. I'm speaking based on what I saw tonight, on what I know of your tribe, and on what I saw the night you came to me and whined and moped because you couldn't share Ray Ostermann's bed anymore. There's no assumption involved here, Rory. You have demonstrated a taste for kin. That is fact. Your tribe hates metis; sees them as blemishes and sins; keeps them far from their purebred kin. That is also fact. If you somehow get involved with J.B., it won't go well for you. So if I were you, I'd do what I had to to keep your kin safe and no more.

"Naturally, what happens between John Brendan and yourself is ultimately your tribe's concern. What I said was meant as a piece of well-meaning advice. Take it or leave it. Ultimately, all I want from you is strong claws and a level head in combat."

[Wyrmbreaker] [erg! delete second 'ultimately'.]

[Rory] There's a flare of rage - whitehot and searing under her skin. In the end, what she says is simply this:

"Sorry do tisappoint."

She doesn't clarify on what point, and simply turns and heads to the door.

[Sinclair] "He didn't say he was disappointed in you," Sinclair says to Rory's back, if only because that's the only part of Rory given to them now. "He said you were disrespectful -- which you were. He didn't make an assumption or accuse you of anything -- he was giving you some advice based on past experience with you and the shy smiles and heart-heavy sighs and girlish glances at ...um... that guy all night. Which, frankly, I picked up on, too."

The authority in her tone falters for a bit there, because she can't remember JB's name. It picks up again easily enough.

"Wyrmbreaker's your Elder by rank and by his role on the auspice council. But you know by his track record with his own kin that he knows where the lines of guardianship are. You know very well by his own behavior that he isn't going to go sticking his nose into your tribe's business, harrying you like he gives a good god-damn what you do with your own tribe's kinfolk."

A beat. "So obviously, what he's saying is the truth: it was just well-meaning advice, regardless of delivery, because -- I'm going to go out on a limb here -- you're a good warrior and he'd like you to not shoot yourself in the foot mooning over someone you can't and shouldn't have."

[Wyrmbreaker] [sorry! for some reason i was waiting on lessa.]

[Rory] She starts to reply, her brow furrowed, and then shakes her head briefly, her curls bouncing. She opens her mouth again, and all that results is a brief huff of...

..laughter.

At first, disbelieving, then falling into true, honest to Gaia amusement.

"You know nothing of re, meally." The laughter continues, and the sound follows her out the door, and into the shadows, where - despite the gleam of those bright red curls, she disappears, as if the shadows her her home.

She is, after all, a Bogeyman.

[Rory] (Have to sleep. 5am comes way too effin early. g'night!)

[Sinclair] Rory huffs -- literally -- out the door. The laughter gets Sinclair's back up. It's hard not to be riled by that. It's hard not to want to lunge out the door after her, drag her back, and bloody JB's beautiful cafe floor trying to drill the repeatedly missed point into Rory's hyper-colored head.

It's hard. But a lot of things are hard. And you do them anyway.

Sinclair watches her go, and exhales without parting her lips. She turns slowly around and looks at Lukas for a moment. He knows every line of tension in her body right now. The way the moon turns towards her darker phase, the way that weighs on Sinclair. He knows how much effort she puts into self-control these days, as though some switch got flipped and she not longer shrugs every potential consequence of her actions off. She watches how she looks at people, and checks how she makes them feel, more closely.

She's maturing. She's a Fostern. He can chalk it up to that.

"When you asked me to join your pack," she starts, and it calls back to the way she was talking to Katherine earlier this month in the pool room of the loft, "I remember you saying that it was partly because you needed some spontaneity brought in. Less plan-plan-plan. Something to shake it up a bit. You needed to think outside the box.

"We don't have a Ragabash," Sinclair goes on, turning towards her gyro to tear off some lamb, "and because Kate's a crazy-ass Fang Philodox and you're a near-Adren Shadow Lord, you both need -- no offense -- someone to question you and call you out on occasion. And while it isn't my duty or even my right to do so by auspice, it's my duty and right as your sister to help you. Plus, I'm a damn sight more useful than ninety percent of the fucking bitchitude-whiny No Moons I've seen at this sept."

She chews, swallows, and looks at him again. "Anyway. I've held back sometimes because you're my Alpha, but I'm realizing that I'm not doing you any favors. You're my Alpha, and you know you have my utter loyalty. You know I won't hesitate on the battlefield. You know I love you. You know we're united. You know I'm not going to undermine you in front of non-pack. So there's no reason for me to shut up when I disagree with you.

"I wish you'd let Rory answer when I asked her what there was to get," Sinclair says, some of the formality and seriousness of her tone draining away. It's still a serious discussion. It's still important enough that she prefaced it. "Like I said to her, I picked up on her eyelash-fluttering bullshit just as much as you did, and we both know how wrist-to-forehead she was over Ray. But the thing is, she isn't our packmate. She isn't our friend. Even based on past behavior, we don't know her that well."

Sinclair sips tea from her straw thoughtfully. "She brought the kinsman up, not us. For all we know it was because she was looking for wiser ears. For all we know she was going to answer and tell us what her experience with him has been so far, why he was so tense, why she was acting the way she was with him. For all we know, that could have led to a productive conversation where the exact same advice you gave her would have been heard more clearly and maybe even welcomed."

Her eyes pin him for a moment now. They're gentle. Odd, how gentle her eyes can be, when everything else about her screams of predatory hunger, dominance, viciousness. "You weren't wrong," she says. "At least, I don't think you were. But I do think that the way you addressed it made it sound like you really were suspicious of her, and thought you knew what was going on already. You didn't ask her -- a Fiann -- if she wanted your -- a Shadow Lord's -- advice about her dealings with her Kin, and I think you know exactly how well most Garou take unsolicited advice in that area, metis or not.

"The point is," Sinclair finishes, "while Rory just acted like a petulant little brat and that's her own insecurities and bullshit rearing their ugly heads, I think you need to acknowledge the part you played in starting that little conflict, and recognize how it might have been avoided -- or at least met with more information."

[Wyrmbreaker] Lukas doesn't speak during that final exchange. He's silent, listening, but hardly looking at Rory now. Eating. Drinking. Finishing his late-night meal. He glances up at her grand exit, but otherwise doesn't comment. Or react.

When Sinclair speaks, though, Lukas's eyes go to her. Fasten and fix. Truth be told, Sinclair takes a while getting to the point. Prefaces it with statements, reassurances, that Lukas might laugh at if he didn't understand how necessary they can be. How necessary they might be even here, between the two of them -- simply because the moon is very nearly full still. Because he's an Ahroun on the verge of Adren. Because he is Shadow Lord, and the last time someone spoke to him with something he considered disrespect

-- all of thirty seconds ago --

he calmly promised to put their head through a bartop if it happened again.

So: Sinclair tells him why she's speaking up. Why she didn't speak up earlier. What he can expect from her. And what she thinks of what just happened. And Lukas listens, eyes steady and keen, attention fully hers.

When she's done, there's so little response that an outsider would wonder if he heard her at all. Just a moment's thought, and then a nod, and then this, quietly:

"Okay."

She's not an outsider. She knows he heard her. She knows if he didn't understand, he would ask for clarification. If he didn't agree, he would say so. If he thought she was talking out of her ass, he'd say that, too. So the fact that he says nothing but that could only mean --

"Point taken. I'll be more careful of that in the future." There's a pause, and then this, sincere: "Thank you, Sinclair."

[Sinclair] Sinclair has no fucking clue that upstairs there's a sleeping child. When she throws herself at Lukas he'd better get ready for her arms flying around his neck and for the loud, overblown "I LUB YOU, BIG BRUDDER!" she yells in his ear, squishing her face against his and rubbing it until his cheekbones are sore or until he retaliates by hugging her til her ribs ache. There's no hesitation for the fact that maybe she shouldn't be yelling.

She quite calmly goes back to eating. There's no prolonged discussion, nor need for it. She tried to translate Lukas-to-Rory earlier and it didn't help. She has no business right now addressing with Rory her own Issues, nor any real faith after tonight that it would anything but a waste of breath. So she focused on the one that matters to her.

There's a part of him that's in her mind, as powerful and strong and alive as the part of her mind where Katherine is. She senses without needing to read it that he understands. That he doesn't disagree. That she's not full of shit (or worse, of herself). That he listened. That he'll remember.

So she hugs him, bellows in his ear, and goes back to her dinner.


Later, JB comes back down and Rory's gone. Sinclair and Lukas, no slouches when it comes to eating, have left money on the counter. By the time they get outside the rain has turned into a full-blown thunderstorm. Sinclair suggests they step over, shift, and run through the rain howling to Perun until their paths diverge.

So: they do. She goes towards the Brotherhood. He turns a little further west, so someone else, some other blonde, can commiserate about the Yankees' loss a little more investedly than Sinclair can.

danny boy.

[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona bites Rory on the shoulder, a sharp nip to stifle the redhead's whimper. She rolls her eyes upward to the ceiling as Simon spits out at them, a loud snort erupting with a deep exhale. She doesn't move from her seat on the beanbag, even as the commons starts to clear out and Ruarc leaves with Amelia.

Green eyes narrow on the fleeting form of the Shadow Lord, "I never saw a bigger pussy of a man, than the fucker leaving a room with his widdle beat stick." This called after Simon.

[Rory] Fiona bites her shoulder, and Rory falls silent, before she's shifting her weight again, slightly, to lean into Fiona just a little. There's submission there, though she is the one who won the challenge on her own territory. This is not her territory. This is not her home.

Then Fiona calls after him, and it's Rory's turn to turn her head and tuck it against Fiona's shoulder, hiding what might be a real, amused, smile - if only it were seen instead of hidden away...

[Victor Oseragighte] Victor does laugh at Fiona's challenge; if Simon had been trying to goad him, he'd find that Victor knew that game and did not play. He was a competent combatant, but knew where to draw his lines, especially when it came to hardcore Ahrouns like Simon and Fiona.

[Simon Zahradnik] The words spoken by Fiona cause the man to pause. He chews slowly, his back still presented to the group, but he pauses no less, a hand reaching out to toss the apple core into the trash. The words were jammed like a spike right into Simon's back. A popping sound came from Simon's neck as he popped it in one direction and then the other. Rising up to his full six foot height he turned slowly around and there was no mistake that his eyes were looking directly at Fiona.

"That's funny... How you called me a pussy and everyone laughed. Did you think that up all on your own Fiona?"He asks her curiously as he tosses his bat on the nearest table and crosses his arms over his chest while staring back at her. There was fire in the air, boiling and bubbling as the Full Moon turned his attention towards Fiona. White hot and threatening the tension that grew was directed solely in her direction.

"Cause while you've been here... I dunno... Cuddling your tribemates... I've been out there doing my job which is to kill shit. So what was that about me being a pussy? How do you figure that I am a pussy exactly?"

[Casey Steward] "Aye, Aye, I hear ya Mac an I don give two shakes of a dea dog if tha's the case. I'm here now, I'm fuckin stayin here for a while, fuck ya an your world cup piss. I got betta things ta do buddy." The reporter is heard on the staircase below, even as Simon begins his descent, his voice isn't angry, infact he almost seems like hes joking with whoever is on the other end of the phone.

"Mac, listen...no Mac, I gotta go, in a meetin here...no I aint gettin a new producer, stuff it Mac...Mac, goodbye fella." He says as he comes up into the common room once more and looks around with that rackish grin, his eyes falling in particular on Rory and Fiona as they sit together.

"Wha did a miss?" He says...before the smile falls from his face as he feels, and see's the hostility coming off of Simon.

[Fiona Sullivan] Simon doesn't go far, his words lash out as he attempts to whip at the blond with harsh words. The corners of her mouth pull back into a human sneer. She makes a sound that vibrates in the back of her throat like a growl, low and threatening. She uncoils her arms from around Rory, pushing upright to stand. Her bare feet make little sound on the carpet as Fiona starts to move towards the Shadow Lord.

Blond hair snaking along her shoulders now dry from airing out. She lifts up her chin in absolute defiance, narrowing her eyes on Simon. "While ya were not here a several minutes 'efore I showed, asshole, I had already been out doing my patrols and cleaning the blood from my clothes. I do my job and I do it a lot fucking better than ya seeing as I wiped your face across the floor."

She pokes a finger into his chest, stretching up on the tips of her toes to breath out into his face with a loud snort, "What's wrong, Simon, jealous cuz she's more cuddly than you are... got nicer tits that's for sure."

[Rory] She narrows her gaze, slightly, as Simon declares them 1. cuddling and 2. Fionna as lazy, and Fiona uncurls from the beanbag chair and stands, lethal intent in her every move. Rory stands as well, flanking her tribemate as she stalks the Shadowlord...

Rory's hair is still damp, her clothing still in the wash, the blood from the enemy still traveling the drains from where she washed it from her skin, scrubbed the scent of death and decay from her hair, her being. Yet she did not feel the need to flaunt it, or to accuse others of being weak, of being lazy, of not doing their duty. She does not assume.

"Don't."

One word. One single word. Don't suggest she does not do her duty, or that her tribemates slack either, or that they are less than their moon. It drips with challenge, it drips with fury, it drips with rage.

One.
Single.
Word.

And then Fiona is in Simon's face, and declaring Rory's tits to be better, and even in that flash of anger brought on by the Shadow Lord's words - Rory blushes.

Always a contradiction, Rory.

[Victor Oseragighte] He realizes his mistake too late, from Simon's reaction, from Fiona's continued goading of him. Rising, he heads for the Ahroun, setting his glass down and snatching up an empty one and the bottle of whiskey. "Hey. Okay. So you two beat your chests. Howled and growled. How about relaxing for a few with whiskey. We're all out doing our job, right?"

There was a marked difference between healthy competition, a good rivalry, and something entirely out of control, and he senesed that this could get there. He looks from Fiona beside him to Simon, still holding out some hope of smoothing this over.

[Casey Steward] Casey is now trapped in a room full of rage that seems ready to be unleashed, how had he NOT seen this coming, he curses under his breath at the whiskey he'd been drinking and simply moves around the group, heading for a spot where he has a clear shot on Simon, he doesn't do anything more then that...he just waits to back up his Tribe.

"I really don think tearin this place up is gonna get anyone in tha ancestor's goo books here folks...but hey, I'm jus kin."

[Simon Zahradnik] He removes his glasses and his eyes meet Fiona directly, he was staring with his own fiery hot gaze directly into her eyes. He didn't care that he was surrounded by Fianna, she had brought forth a challenge to his courage and he wasn't about to step down as he gazed directly into her eyes.

His hands ball into fists and he stares directly into her eyes. That fiery threatening gaze doesn't dare break as he draws in a deep breath. His entire body was tensed and ready to strike as she came to confront him rose up and got directly into his face.

"You tricked me... You got the best of me once. I went easy on you, held back and I got my ass kicked for it. It's sure as fuck not a mistake I will make again not for you or anyone."He growls back at her as if no one else in the room even existed. There were only these two Full Moons staring back at one another. He could hear their words but he already knew them, what they wanted and what they were trying to do.

They didn't know him, they didn't know who or what he was. So far they had only ever seen the laughable friendly guy that he wore on the surface but there was something dark and sinister behind those eyes. The kind of dark frightening and sinister beast that turned honorable combat into screams of horror and agony. The Shadow Lord stared back into the womans eyes and his breath drew in deeply."I'm not jealous of shit. To be jealous I would first have to give a flying fuck about anything and I think that is where you've made your first incorrect assumption about me. I am not a man... I am a monster. Any time you wanna see what that means I am more than willing to show you."He says back to her in a bitter tone. Eyes never shifting from her gaze.

[Rory] Rory watches. Her gaze only flicks away when Casey speaks, and reminds them he's only kin - and then she moves. Not to interfere between Fiona and Simon, as he was the first to make assumptions no matter his sanctimonious tone - but to place herself between Casey and any fight that may (likely will) occur.

She remains closer to Casey than the others, but her gaze returns to her auspice mates, her tribe mate. Her hands clench lightly at her side, and the tension screams through her slender form. But she has years of practice in control, and it is control she exerts now, as easily as she breathes.

[Mila Davis] She'd felt the increase of rage crackle against that mystical pack link. And, lucky [or maybe unlucky] for Simon.. Mila was downstairs, having a nice little drink [or three]. A long while ago, she'd seen him go upstairs, but hadn't said anything. Afterall, she wasn't his mother.

But now, with the increase in his tensions.. Mila snagged her glass of tequila on the rocks and headed for the stairs. Tonight, the dark haired Lord was dressed in a pair of dark wash jeans, flip flops and a white tank top. Her hair was down, and make up dark.. like usual.

What in the hell was Simon getting himself into now?

[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona is silent; her eyes never leaving Simon's as she continues to breath in and out sharply. She can feel the press of the others at her back, hear the words they speak. Even the Wendigo goes so far as to try and diffuse the tension in the air that seems to darken a black cloud between these two ahrouns. There is something under the surface, lying dark and hidden, as Simon starts to show his true colors against the ferocity of the passionate Fianna.

"So, ya went easy on me did ya, Simon, well then... Looks like I should not have been so gentle on ya the last time." She can feel her heart beating heavily in her chest, eyebrows narrowed now as she watches him. "So, round two is it then, boyo?"

[Victor Oseragighte] He marks Rory's move to protet Casey, grateful, as he also marks Simon's total focus on Fiona. And Fiona's challenge. Damn. He steps in, bottle and glass in his hands still, though not offered, muscles bulging and limbs lengthening as he takes on the moral feral Glabro state. His voice comes out more guttural, more assertive.

"If this is going to happen, it should happen properly. We can't afford to throw away lives here. Either call in the Master of Challenges or," he glances to Rory, hoping to get her backing, "or I'll officiate. As Philodox. But this needs to end."

No, no simple rivalry. Not any longer.

[Casey Steward] Casey watches the woman come to stand between him and the potentially explosive situation like a shield, it was hard to believe that such a lithe, slender thing could be any safety against such violence...but Casey knew better.

He stood there for a moment before stepping forward and whispering to Rory.


"I uh...forgot ma piece back a tha hotel....sorry." He says as he waits for the outcome.

[Sinclair] "III'M A CUCUMBER!"

Sinclair is singing. Sinclair is also drunk, tromping out of the bathroom after a shower, wearing -- oddly enough -- exactly the same outfit as Mila. How embarrassing.

"III'M A CUCUMBER!"

She rounds the corner and flip-flops down the hallway, bopping her head from side to side. "PLEASE DON'T TAKE ME TO THE PICK-LE FARM!"

And in the archway between hall and common room, stops. Flicks her eyes around. Her eyebrows quirk.

[Simon Zahradnik] A breath lifts in his chest. He wasn't showing any signs that he was about to back off from the Fianna before him. Whatever was shared between them, was apparently between them and not the kind of thing that could simply be diffused with a few words or even a threat. He waits for Fiona's response and his smile grows oh so slowly."Anytime and anywhere..."He says back to her. The fiery look in his eyes never fading, never breaking he wasn't about to show the tiniest hint of weakness before the woman.

He looked as if he was already itching for a fight as it was. The fact the Fianna was so willing to present him with something to fight only made the Shadow Lord that much more eager to accept.

[Rory] He steps closer, and murmurs, and Rory.. well. she flashes Casey a brief smile, meeting his eyes for just a moment, as he admits to have leaving his piece at home. She un-clenches a fist, and reaches to touch his hand. Silent, that communication, before she returns her full attention to the dueling pair across the room.

Victor looks to her for backup, and she arches a brow slightly. It is their way to brawl. It is their way to fight and demand submission (even if it is her personal way to submit more often than dominate when it comes to sept mates). She does however, nod, slightly. She supports his claim as Philodox - but she makes no move to stop her tribemate.

[Ruarc o'Conaill] He walks out, and into chaos.

The tall Fianna pulls to a stop in the door to the common room, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.
“What theFOOK is goin on here?”

That deep baritone voice cuts hard, made only more potent by the lineage of heroes and champions in the Irish Full-Moon. His gaze sweeps over those gathered in the common room, a good deal more than he had left them, and a good deal more tense.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] In this tense situation comes Lukas, heading up the stairs with a plateful of noms -- probably lamb. There's a pause at the top, a black eyebrow quirking. Then he mounts the last step, glances around, and heads for the sectional. It doesn't seem to matter to him if he cuts through the complex web of tension surrounding Simon, Rory, Fiona, everyone.

The Ahroun drops down in his favorite spot: right near the bend in the couch, facing the TV. His feet go up on the coffee table. They're bare. His pants are soft drawstring slacks. His t-shirt is plain and white. He eats the last of a string of grapes out of the palm of his hand, then drops the stem on the tabletop.

"If you throw down in here," Lukas puts in, rather evenly at that, "it won't be the first time and it won't be the last. Loser cleans the bloodstains, though. Unless you want to explain to our resident Black Furies why Saint Jenny's down on her knees scrubbing up your mess."

A pause while he rips meat free from a lamb rib. He points the bone at Fiona.

"Also, who's that?" Ruarc enters; roars. "And that?"

[Mila Davis] Mila came up stairs not long after Lukas - sipping on her drink. Blue-grey eyes land immediately on Simon and the clump of people near by. Something was going on..

And why was Sinclair wearing the exact same outfit? Well.. apparently it was a popular choice! Oh well, they looked hot.. that's all that mattered.

Her mind wandered back to the matter at hand. "Simon - what is going on?"

[Casey Steward] Casey accepts Rory's hand ever so briefly, squeezing it, before taking a step back and leaving the Garou to her watch, and to the situation beyond, along with all the others who were gathering drawn to the scene like cops to a murder scene. He suddenly wishes he had his camera gear as well.

[Sinclair] There's a strange new Fianna standing behind Sinclair now. She glances over her shoulder at the accented Ruarc and raises her eyebrow a little more pointedly at him, roaring and nostril-flaring right behind her in the doorway. "Mind taking a step back there, buddy, and maybe not shouting in my ear next time?"

[Victor Oseragighte] Damn. More people shouting, inserting themselves into this, and the tension is all that more likely to break, he recognizes.

"People. Calm down. More confusion is not going to help this. At all." He cuts a look to the other Ahroun who blithely sanctions a brawl right then and there, then Ruarch and his bellowing.

[Fiona Sullivan] It is a game. This has happened before and will likely play out again on similar grounds, Fiona snorts softly, pulling her arms up to fold them across her chest tightly. Tension running through the length of lean muscles that start to show in her arms and back the longer she stood there.

"This ain't going to ever end, Victor," Fiona replies to the Wendigo in a softer tone of voice, not looking at him, "It's the nature of the beast... Won't be the last time, I can assure ya of that." Simon agrees to another round and she knew he would not back down from the challenge, just anticipated his response as to when. She quirks an eyebrow in Lukas' direction as he came up the stairs, and then her head was turning at Ruarc's booming voice.

Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth, too many wolves in one room, it was sweltering with rage and anger. She looks to Simon and then to Victor, "Ain't going to wreck the furniture in this place. I'll paint his face somewhere else, but not here. Same place, Simon?"

Ruarc goes unanswered for now as her attention is directed upon Lukas, "Fiona Sullivan, Strength of Nehmain. Child of Danu, Full Moon."

[Simon Zahradnik] In seconds the common room is flooded with people. They came out of the woodwork like termites and yet they weren't on the forefront of the Full Moon's attention, even his elders with their strength could not give him back his pride. They could sure as hell take it away but that wasn't the concern right now! In fact Lukas' words only lend further support to Simon's desire to throw down whenever the Fianna was ready.

He smiled a little when she made the offer and he nodded his head."Unless you'd rather pick the venue..."He adds. Letting her introduce herself to Lukas."I think we're okay... I might be an asshole but I'm not going to kill another Garou without a damn good reason."He says snapping his eyes towards the Mistrustful Victor.

Finally his alpha gets his Attention."Mila meet Fiona, Fiona meet Mila. I'm out..."He says, turning once more to head for the exit, though not before snatching up his bat. The weapon wasn't often used by him in combat but something about just having it in his hand almosat brought the full moon comfort.

[Mila Davis] Lips pursed. Mila just eyed Simon.

[Ruarc o'Conaill] A glance to Sinclair, but no more then that before he moves past her, towards Simon, Fiona and Rory, stalking up to them. His voice drops down to a more normal tone, but it is still deep and sharp.
“Ye goin tae scuffle? Ye go right ahead. I’m all fer it, but if ye do it with the kin right here, I’ll drag ye by the nose ‘til ye learn tae t’ink afore ye act.”

He doesn’t quite go right in between the threesome, but at 6’3, the figure is quite imposing even standing just to the side, stormy grey and blue gaze sliding between Simon and Fiona.
“Now take ye gruff someplace where th’ aint be kin in th’ line o’ fire, both o’ ye.”

There were at least two Fianna kin in close proximity, one of them right in the room.
Then simon is turning away, and Ruarc shrugs, nodding and looking to Casey for a moment.

[Sinclair] Ruarc glances at Sinclair without responding. And then turns sideways a bit to nudge past her. She lifts her eyebrows. "Oh no, after you," she says, as he moves over to the other Ahrouns.

[Rory] One of the kin is right in the room - but protected, and obviously so by Rory. Her gaze narrows slightly, as she looks at Ruarc, and then she ignores it what could be perceived as a slight and returns her attention to Fiona and Simon, and their decision to move to another place and scuffle.

You'd think that would make the tension bleed from her form, but with Lukas and Sinclair arriving, she's all but trembling, the clench of her fists at her side all that keeps it from being visible. Careful control, always.

[Casey Steward] Casey was till well behind Rory still shielded somehow by the shorter Fianna. He looked at Ruarc and nodded in return...and while his look is appreciative, it also has that defiant, 'I can look after myself' hint in his eyes.

He is however slightly concerned that his shield is trembling, others might not notice...but his proximity lets him know...he however is not stupid enough to touch her at that moment.

[Sinclair] I wanna hit 'im. Can I hit 'im? I should hit him. He seems like the type to hold a grudge. I haven't had anyone issue a challenge of grievance on me in such a long time. I went to a bar that has this thing that's like seventeen different boozes in one mix and it's really good with limes I feel AWESOME I should hit something.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Theron Locke

[Victor Oseragighte] "There's a reason why we do things like we do. What you intend isn't always what happens. I'll tag along," he asserted quietly, wondering if he should have done so last time now. Perhaps that had been his big mistake, not keeping a watch on this previously. Then again, Fiona may well be right, that they would go around again and again. And that, too, was one reason why there were Half-Moons.

[Simon Zahradnik] Simon looks up at Ruarc for only a second, a smile is offered back to the Full moon but those eyes peel away from the Fianna without saying a word. He simply continues on his way towards the exit. Soft steady breaths allowing him to focus and control his rage.

Something caused Simon to pause and tense. He choked back the urge to growl but he shot a look in Mila's direction that could kill a lesser creature. Fury and hatred flared within him and his eyes narrowed sharply in her direction. Whatever that look was it sent a frighteningly clear message to his Alpha. Something had infuriated the full moon though what was something only she would know. That glance lasts a few seconds before he walks past and around Mila heading for the exit from the common room.

[Mila Davis] Arms crossed at her chest as she leaned back against the wall and just watched. Her gaze lingered over Fiona - the girl got a little up nod in acknowledgement. There was no distain or anger there in her eyes - not for the woman. There was a good chance Simon deserved it. If not - well, he was an ahourn and young. Fighting was in his blood. She wasn't about to stop it, especially if it was a challenge, as her packmate had stated.

She didn't say anything aloud to either of the challengers - what she had to say to Simon was just for him.. and she knew he heard her. The look told her that much.

[Fiona Sullivan] The situation seems to have diffused itself. The Ahrouns have agreed to move the fight off site, Simon turns to go just as his alpha arrives and leaves Fiona to stand there glaring at the Shadow Lord's back. Her arms drop, hands pulled up to run fingers through her hair as her cheeks puff out, holding her breath. A flush of color stains her face, darkening the bronze skin.

She pivots on the balls of her feet, looking first to Victor, and then past him to Rory. A frown creases her brow as watches the tension in her fellow auspice mate. "Rory, can ya take care of Casey for me whilst I go deal with Simon?" She calls over to the redhead, not quite waiting for an answer before she's turning to answer Victor.

"Fine. I cannot stop ya from tagging along, it is yar bloody right..." her voice trails off, looking back over a shoulder towards Rory again and snorts.

[Ruarc o'Conaill] Ruarc walks past Rory, looking at Casey with a slight smile. Something of his humor seeming returned now that the fighters have agreed to move on to another venue. His words are low, for Rory, but he isn’t exactly whispering either.
“Good head on ye shoulder’s Tounge-Twister, keepin Casey shielded.”
He had indeed noticed she was shielding the kin. But there was just one of her, and two fighters, as well as two Fianna kin, one in the room, and one very much close by. His thoughts had been for both of them, not just Casey.

He stops beside her, turning around to look after Simon and Fiona, thoughtful now, more than anything. It is as if he had never raised his voice at all. Another glance to Sinclair, looking at the woman for a moment before offering her a slight nod.

[Rory] Fiona shoos her a look, and a question, and Rory presses her lips together, and nods, slightly. She would have anyway, though there's a part of her that wants to follow, wants to see, wants to watch, wants to join. But in this, she submits easily.

When her tribe mate shoots her the second look, Rory's lips quirk into the slightest of grins, though it fades, almost as fast as it arrives. Instead, she takes a breath, and then turns to look at Casey, meeting his gaze, briefly as teeth worry over her lower lip, absently.

[Theron Locke] "Well depends on where you are and who your talking about hitting. If it's some bozo at the bar I would advise against it... if it's one of our cousins drag his arse down to the challenge circle at the Caern and have at it. ....." and then a small chuckle comes through the totemphone "Seventeen hey ?.. sounds positively potent."
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair

[Rory] (adds briefly)

She flushes under the praise of Ruarc, ducking her head to hide behind her curls, again as he stops beside her.

[Victor Oseragighte] He's said his piece and now actions speak louder. A nod is offered to Fiona before he falls in behind the pair. He's still not used to Hummingbird's gift, causing him to move far more fluidly than he used to, a bit blatantly so.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [ack! *catches up*]

[Sinclair] Dude, I hate this attitude like every time we hit each other it needs to be an ohmigod CHALLENGE.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Theron Locke

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Very simply, I agree.
to Sinclair, Theron Locke

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] For the most part, the Shadow Lord on the sectional is quiet, watchful. His pale eyes go to Fiona at her introduction. They rest on Ruarc a moment as he speaks again; then again.

Then, as Fiona and Simon agree on their means and methods, he speaks up. "Hey." It's quiet, but there's a certain weight there. It's given by rank. It's given by title. "Wait for me. I'd like to observe."

His attention turns to Victor, then. "I understand you're a Half Moon, and as such, feel obligated to mediate disputes. But these are Full Moons, Swallow, and Full Moons will fight. It's how we stay sharp. It's how we determine hierarchy. It's how we blow off steam that would otherwise be turned on our loved ones and those too weak to defend themselves against us.

"Not every brawl needs to be a Challenge. Sometimes making it so will deepen the resentment, not dispel it."

And lastly, to Ruarc, and plainly now so that it cannot be mistaken:

"Who are you?"

[Casey Steward] Casey looks to Rory and then back over to Fiona as she prepares to go. "If ye wan ta go with her lass, go. I've passed through rougher places than Chicago afore withou naery an aid or shield."

He says tot he woman with a reassuring nod. "If it was ma choice, I'd wanna see wha happened as well."

[Theron Locke] "Well I just figured if there was a particular grievance , it would be the best way to sort it out. If it's just a scrap your after , the fighting circle will still save the furniture whereever you are. But if this guy proves to give you no joy I'm back in town now, so I'll throw down with you."
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair

[Sinclair] Dude Cliaths are so funny. I know that's totally dickish of me to say cuz like, I was one two seconds ago but look at 'em all puffed up and eager to jump into shit and prove how smart they are and stuff.

...wait, you're back in town? Did you go somewhere?
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Theron Locke

[Ruarc o'Conaill] Ruarc turns his head to look at Lukas. He recognizes the rank within the other without much difficulty, offering him a respectful nod before he replies.
“I’m Ruarc o’Coneill, Blood-Song, Ahroun o’ Stag, cliath.”

That stormy grey and blue gaze on Lukas face, but not quite meeting the others gaze. He responds easily enough to the others question, voice low, a deep baritone. He reaches up to scratch at the thin goatee on his chin, then lets his arm fall to his side.

[Rory] Two things make the decision for her. First, Lukas wants to observe - which would make two Shadow Lords, a Wendigo, and her Tribe Mate. Second, Casey understands her wish to go, and tells her to go ahead and do so. She graces Casey with the slightest of smiles, one that lights up her eyes and softens the lines of her face as she tries for a compromise.

"Hait were?" If he'll wait for her here, she'll go. Otherwise, she stays, and holds true to her promise.

[Theron Locke] Nah not dickish... just experienced I think. Know that you don't have to parade around like a peacock to get noticed, just let your deeds speak for themselves.

and yeah I returned home to New York, was time to visit the family and deal with some stuff that'd been on my mind for awhile. Also challenged for Fostern while I was there, had challenged Blood Summons but he went missing before the challenge could start.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair

[Casey Steward] "Aye lass, I'll wait here for tha two o you ta finish up with tha fella." He says with a nod. "No like I have anywhere else ta be ah tha moment."

He says as he shrugs casually, smiling as he looks over to Fiona and smiles. "When ya ge back...I'll have a drink ready an waitin ta toast ta your victory."

[Fiona Sullivan] ((Just an OOC Note: The scene for the fight is not taking place until after Midnight site time Tomorrow, so just letting you all know if we're going to be picking up an audience, or if someone's character is going to take some kind of action.))
to Casey Steward, cricket, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Mila Davis, Ruarc o'Conaill, Simon Zahradnik, Sinclair, Theron Locke, Victor Oseragighte

[Mila Davis] Somedays.. she wondered why she bothered to take on that troublesome packmate of hers. Somedays, he proved his worth. Now why was it he liked to prove to the rest of the world that he was a hothead who got beat up by girls?

Another sip of her tequlia. It burned. Just the way she liked it. Mila turned and headed back down the stairs - not after the group.. Wyrmbreaker and the guy she didn't recognize would make sure it didn't get out of hand.

[Theron Locke] There is a lean figure that arrives from the corridor. Dark wavy hair being finger combed from his face as he begins to look around the common room. He's dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a white shirt that currently remains untucked.

Theron Locke , Theurge of the Shadow Lords seems to hold himself with more assuredness today, a more commanding presences than he once did. Perhaps a lot had changed in the time of his absence from Chicago

"Evening all..... what seems to be all the commotion?" Eyes continuing to search the room and finding many new faces but also several familiar ones.

[Sinclair] Aww, Theron. Congrats, man. Why didn't you say anything?
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Theron Locke

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "Blood-Song," and a courtesy to Fiona, too, whose introduction he'd never responded to in the chaos of the moment, "and Strength of Nehmain, welcome to the Sept of the Maelstrom. I'm Lukáš Wyrmbreaker, Fostern, Alpha of the Unbroken, Alpha of the Shadow Lords, Alpha of the Full Moons. You're busy, so I'll make this quick: we're at war. Join a pack quickly."

His attention centers on Ruarc, then. "Ruarc, leadership in this Caern is earned by deeds, not by volume of voice or blood of ancestry. You're a Cliath. Simon and Fiona are Cliaths. It's not your place to command them until you've earned the right. Furthermore, that Cliath," he adds, nodding at Rory, "is a stone's throw from Fostern. When you praise her, do so with the respect you would give someone who stands above you, not below."

[Sinclair] Ruarc gives her a nod, but Sinclair's look back to him is somewhat at a loss. Lukas is talking now, or was, so she had no intention of interrupting, but when she feels her packmate starting to come up behind her, she turns her head over her shoulder and gives him a little smile, moving so that there's enough room in the doorway for them both to occupy the space. Leaning on the frame, she looks back into the common room and starts to clean out the dirt from under one of her fingernails. Well, not dirt so much as this one really annoying speck that won't come out without her messing with it.

She flicks her eyes up as Lukas speaks to Ruarc, and then -- quite abruptly, and without apparent reason -- she elbows Theron hard and sharp in the ribs.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [don't wait for me when you guys throw down -- Lukas mainly wants to see how they spar and offer suggestions if necessary, and to make sure they don't come away with a huge bitter resentment toward each other. which i don't think is the case, anyway!]
to Casey Steward, cricket, Fiona Sullivan, Mila Davis, Rory, Ruarc o'Conaill, Sinclair, Theron Locke, Victor Oseragighte

[Fiona Sullivan] Fiona had waited until Lukas had addressed her, when that comes, she listens to what he has to say to Ruarc, absorbing it all in with curiosity. Her gaze swings back to Rory with anewed interest at discovering that she was nearly a fostern. It made everything all the more intriguing.

Once no one needed to address her for anything, the blond fianna moves off with anyone else in tow for a showdown with the shadow lord.

[Casey Steward] When Fiona and Rory are both gone, Casey seems to consider his options, he had promised he would remain here in this place until they returned fro this fight. And he would hold himself to that. For now though, the man goes to take a seat on any unoccupied section of the sectional couch. Kicking up his feet to catch a few winks while he waited for the two ladies to return.

[Theron Locke] A laugh comes through the totemphone "Probably because I'm stupid and in all the excitement, simply forgot. Got caught up with my old life and sorting out things with my folks. But it's good to be back, this is home now.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Sinclair

[Rory] She is looking at Casey, when Lukas speaks to Ruarc, and turns just in time to catch the comment about her, and her rank. She blinks, and then flushes, and ducks her head. It's as if she had not realized she was so close to anything of rank. She has always simply done her duty. Such as placing herself in front of a kinfolk, so that he is out of the splatter zone. Such as backing up a Tribe Mate who's in the right when being dressed down by someone making assumptions. Such as fighting, and killing, and doing everything that has made her an Ahroun of the nation - an Ahroun that's close to achieving something she had been told she'd never, ever manage, that she'd never ever deserve.

It's a conflicting batch of emotions that dance nakedly across her face, hidden by the fall of her hair. She hesitates, though, and with another look at Fiona, nods. She'll be along when Lukas is - until then, she remains in the room.

((Rory will be there - but as I'm not ready for bed, I'm not ditching the scene just yet. *L*))

[Sinclair] Her brows flick together. The good-natured rib-jab with her elbow was one thing. The second time she does it, it's harder, and it's less good-natured. She frowns, quite pointedly, at Theron.

[Ruarc o'Conaill] Ruarc listens to what Lukas has to say, his full attention on the foster as he speaks. At the end of it, Ruarc respond simply with a:
“Aye, Wyrmbreaker-rhya.”

And completely mangling the pronunciation of Wyrmbreaker with his dialect. He does not try to offer excuses or reasons for his behavior. They do not matter at the moment, and Ruarc has no need for them. Another nod to Lukas, and then Ruarc glances to Rory, curious and thoughtful as he looks to the shy full-moon. When she leaves after Simon and Fiona Ruarc turns to join Casey, taking a seat in the recliner beside his large bag and the guitar with its case, putting the instrument away.

[Rory] (or, since everyone is posting me leaving, I should go now, hm? *L*)
to Casey Steward, cricket, Fiona Sullivan, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Ruarc o'Conaill, Sinclair, Theron Locke, Victor Oseragighte

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [i'm staying too!]

[Ruarc o'Conaill] (*L* sorry, stay!)
to Casey Steward, Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Rory, Sinclair, Theron Locke, Victor Oseragighte

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] To Ruarc's simple response, an even simpler reply: a single nod, and the faint onesided curve of his mouth. For what it's worth, the half-smile is genuine, and there's something almost like encouragement in it.

Then Fiona and Simon are heading out to rumble, and the crowd is beginning to disperse. Just like high school, only Lukas never made it to high school. The War interrupted. He doesn't rush to follow the Ahrouns, though. It'll take them a while to get to wherever they were going. He's got a fast car.

He returns to his dinner, instead, picking up his plate as he gets up and heads over to where his packmates are silently elbowing each other. As he approaches, his eyebrows rise in question.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] What's with the elbowing war? And welcome back, Theron. You missed a great dinner at Jesmond's the other night.
to Sinclair, Theron Locke

[Theron Locke] Theron cops one friendly rib jab and is about to offer a shoulder bump back when he finds himself on the receiving end of a second more solid blow . "Guess I deserved that one ?" and then follows up with his original plan of a friendly bump back into her

[Rory] Though she stays until the Ahroun Elder follows the dueling full moons, she is not exactly comfortable doing so. There's a subtle tension as she follows Casey to the couch, weaving through her slender form. She's more tense than she was with Fiona here, even more so than when she and Simon started to argue. There's something else there, something that has her on edge, that has her on uneven footing.

So she does her best to ignore them it, and follows to the couch, looking curiously at the guitar as Ruarc puts it away, almost disappointed that he does so.

[Sinclair] The reasons for the elbowing are twofold, explains the Galliard. Firstly, he said I could throw down with him. Secondly, he called himself stupid. So I elbowed him cuz it sounded pathetic and passive aggressive. And! Because it didn't really answer my question.

A beat. You totally deserved it.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Theron Locke

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [Why you tense?]
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 4, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)
to Rory

[Rory] [You can see nothing!]
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 4, 7, 9, 10, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6)
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Ruarc o'Conaill] Ruarc catches Rory’s glance, offering the shy ahroun a warm grin.
“Ye wanna play lass?”
He taps the guitar case with a finger, eyebrows raised slightly in question. Leaning comfortably in the recliner, his gaze on Rory and Casey.

“Or ye wan’me tae thrum a tune for ye? I hav’th’ guitar o’ the pipes.”
His finger moving from the guitar case to the large bag beside it.

[Rory] She looks over as Casey settles in for a nap, and then back to Ruarc who had caught her look. She chews on her lower lip, absently, and then creeps closer, and settles down into a crouch by the guitar case, and the bag, thus keeping them between her and him. She wraps her arms around her knees, loosely, and with a glance to be sure Lukas has not left without her trailing behind, she glances up at Ruarc, curiosity in her gaze.

"I knon't dow how." Again, she doesn't seem to notice the mixup in her words, she simply hears what she intended to say, adding softly, achingly shy... "please?"

[Theron Locke] Thanks Lukas, it's good to be back... and yeah I'm sorry I missed it but was still in New York. Hopefully there'll be another one sometime... would be good to make it a semi-regular thing.

Was just trying to offer an apology Sinclair, for not letting my pack know such important news. What did you want to know?
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Ruarc o'Conaill] ”Well, we cannae hav’tha’ now can we.”
Said with that easy, friendly smile directed at the shy woman. He reaches down and opens the guitar case, plucking the guitar up from its case and putting it in his lap.”

“Here… I can show ye.”
He shifts slightly and pats the armrest for Rory to come even closer, waiting to see if she does before he goes on. Fingers easily finding their places on the guitar, two easy notes picked out and played.

[Rory] He reaches for the case, opening it, and she watches curiously, tipping her head, slightly. She still doesn't quite meet his gaze, despite what Lukas said of her impending rank, even when he pats the armrest and invites her closer. She chews on her lower lip, absently, and then curiosity overpowers timidness, and she unfolds from her crouch, and takes that step closer. She sinks to perch on the edge of the armrest, doing her best not to invade his personal space, even with his invitation to come closer. If it weren't for the naked curiosity about the instrument, and his playing of it, she would not be this close at all.

He plucks out two easy notes, and they don't look at all easy to her, though she watches his hands, and the placement on the strings carefully. She lifts a hand to rub at the side of her nose, absently, glances up to meet his gaze briefly - then back to the guitar. "...pretty."

Not one to use many words, for obvious reasons.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] I think Danicka and I are hosting the next one, actually. Haven't set a date yet, but we'll let you know.

On the interplay between his packmates, Lukas remains silent.
to Sinclair, Theron Locke

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [doh! Dani&+269;ka! not Danicka!]
to Sinclair, Theron Locke

[Ruarc o'Conaill] He takes his time, making sure he is twisted enough for Rory to get a good look at what he does. He takes his time, clearly showing each note before playing it. He goes through a total of five different ones, slow. Then he plays them quicker, the melody of ‘Danny Boy’ soft and quite beautiful. Ruarc is a skilled player, at least for a full moon. He plays the first piece, then winks at Rory, starting over. This time, he sings softly, in that deep baritone voice.

“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying...”

The ballad is slow and soft, and he finishes it, never taking his eyes from Rory as he performs.

[Rory] He winks at her, and she - predictably - blushes, and ducks to hide behind her curls. She watches his fingers, carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration as she listens to the medly that he plays, one she recognizes. He sings, and she looks up to meet his gaze but for a moment, before her hands fall back to watch his hands and listen as he performs for her.

It's a sad song, it always has been, and Ruarc performs it beautifully. Soon she isn't so much watching his fingers perform the mechanics of the song, such as falling into the beauty of the melody itself, instead. When the last notes fade away, she chances another look up, oh so briefly, before offering the softest of compliments.

"You're gery vood."

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] The three wolves of the Unbroken, having gathered, are now almost wholly silent. Any who have shared a totem bond would recognize that should of shared quiet that speaks of a communication deeper than words. They become a unit unto themselves.

When the Fianna begins to sing, though, the Ahroun turns from his packmates. His head, first; then the rest of him, turning until he faces the pair of Fianna. He drifts back toward them, standing just behind the sectional.

Ruarc's voice is lifting into the second verse when, perhaps unexpectedly, Lukas's joins him. The Shadow Lord is an unpracticed singer of no great skill, strictly amateur. His singing voice is only pleasant insofar as his speaking voice is level, and low, and smooth. Still, he keeps the right key and manages a basic harmony with the Fianna:

"And when you come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an Ave there for me."

The last lines, and he falls silent again, listening to the Fianna finish his song alone. Rory praises him, and Lukas nods in agreement.

"One of my favorite songs, that one." A pause, and then a whim he doesn't pause to question, "If our people gather for my Departing Rite before they do yours, will you sing that over my pyre?"

[Ruarc o'Conaill] Ruarc is surprised by Lukas as he joins in, but not enough to loose his place, instead singing the song as a duet with the other ahroun. When the song is finished, Ruarc looks over his shoulder at Lukas, brows slightly furrowed.

“Aye, I woul’be hono’ed tae sing it fer ye Wyrmbreaker-rhya.”
Again with the mangling of the name, crushing those R’s.

“But I am nae Galliard. Ah just play fer th’ joy o’ it.”

His gaze goes to Rory then, offering her a warm smile.
“If’n ye woul’ like, I will teach ye how tae play Rory. It’s nae hard t’ing once ye get the hang o’ it.”

[Sinclair] There isn't much singing that can go on around Sinclair without her being drawn into it, or to it. After elbowing Theron twice she went quiet, but then Ruarc started playing and she turned away from Theron, watching the two Fianna instead.

Lukas sings with him. Rory praises him. Sinclair closes her eyes. And when Lukas mentions his pyre her brows tug tightly together, then her eyes open and her brow smooths. She looks over at the Shadow Lord Ahroun for a long moment. During that moment, Ruarc answers. And Sinclair shoulders away from the doorframe to head down to the kitchen, flipflops...well. Flipflopping on the stairs.

She gives a general nod to those in the common room before she goes, but doesn't announce where or why she's going.

[Sinclair] For whatever reason, there's no answer to Theron, either with another elbow-jab or returned shoulder-bump or any words over their link. At very least she doesn't take him up, forcefully so, on his earlier offer.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker, Theron Locke

[Sinclair] [Thanks for the RP guys! Dropping out of here.]

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [wait, did you post for theron? i didn't see it.]
to Theron Locke

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [nm! i see it.]
to Theron Locke

[Theron Locke] yeah I just had to re-send Kai my original post and that was her response too it
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Rory] Lukas joins in and Rory's head snaps in that direction, openly surprised for half a moment, before she flushes at her audacity and drops her gaze with a sheepish little grin. She is silent as they talk of Gatherings and singing, and Sinclair leaves. Then Ruarc is offering to teach her...

She bites her lower lip, nervously, a moment, and then reaches a hand to touch the gleaming wood of the guitar, sliding her fingers over the smooth surface briefly, then, with a ache of longing forming in her belly for an answer she expects, she asks oh so softly... "Would I have ro tead music?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] "The Galliards can sing other sings," Lukas replies, smiling. "The honor would be mine, if you'd sing that one."

The Fianna return to their conversation, then, and Sinclair flipflops her way down the stairs. Lukas looks after her thoughtfully for a moment. Then he picks up his plate -- his dinner cooling on it -- and heads for the hallway.

As he passes Theron, he reaches out and claps his hand to his brother's shoulder, a nameless and wordless gesture of welcome and solidarity and ... whatever else it is that that might mean.

[Theron Locke] Yeah it would be good to see Danicka again.. haven't really spoken to her since.. and then Theron goes silent for several moments before speaking again Hopefully by then I'll have sorted out things with Thoth too. That's my first order of business now that I'm back in Chicago. About time that was sorted one way or the other.

Another pause as Sinclair abruptly leaves, no reason given and seemingly uninterested in repeating her question . The start of a response forms on his mind but then disappears.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Ruarc o'Conaill] ”Nae unless ye wan’tae lass. I didnae learn tae read sheet’s until I knew th’ twelve epics by melody n’ heart. I can show ye what tae practice an’ how tae practice step by step.”

Ruarc looks back to Ruarc, gaze following him as he goes or his plate and when he returns. When he claps his hand over Ruarc’s shoulder, the Fianna ahroun nods slowly, looking up at Lukas, thoughtful.
“By oath, I shall sing it fer yer pyre, should ye fall befo'e I.”

His voice low, soft and quite serious. He watches Lukas move away, than looks back to Rory, offering her a smile.
“They say tha’music has the ability tae convey more than words. Ye should’nae fear tae try it. He’e…”
He lifts the guitar, offering it up to rory with that easy smile.

[Ruarc o'Conaill] (Misread, remove the part about the shoulder and Lukas *chuckles* he just says the oath)

[Theron Locke] Theron watches Sinclair depart in silence, tempted to follow but refrains for now. Head turning to his Alpha with a nod and a smile as a hand is laid on his shoulder. Nothing needed to be said, just a simple acknowledgement of one brother to another , now equals but perhaps not for long.

Watching as those gathered discuss music and melodies, the Theurge listening out of interest but knowing he was out of his depth in this area.

[Rory] If it were a case of wanting, then it would be easy, but it is worse than that. She doesn't explain though, nor does she hide the sense of relief at not having to read anything.

When she reaches for the offered guitar, it is with hands that are steady, yet shockingly careful, gentle even. She bites her lower lip, and arranges the instrument across her lap as Ruarc had held it, running her hands over the whole of the guitar, familiarizing herself with the feel, the bits and bobs, the knobs and strings, every little bit as if she is memorizing it on a deeper level than musically - on base functionality, as if by doing so she could likely replicate it in some fashion, make something work that hadn't worked before.

Her hands are almost shockingly fragile looking - her fingers slender, her nails all but non-existent. Looks, however, can be a lie, and she handles the guitar with care that she does not inadvertently damage it.

"...dat who I do?"

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Lukas is faintly surprised when Ruarc makes it an oath. It's not the surprise of someone who finds such a thing quaint or unnecessary, though. It's more a recognition, and a surprise to find such a thing recognizable and recognized in someone so different from himself. A different tribe. A different continent. A different life.

"Thank you," he says, and he means it. "If you think of something I can do for you if our places are reversed, let me know."

Then he's moving on to his packmate, whose shoulder he clasps before moving on. The door of his room opens, then closes quietly.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Meanwhile, the conversation continues unfettered by space or walls or doors:

Are you still planning to challenge for her as your mate?
to Theron Locke

[Ruarc o'Conaill] A look after Lukas. Ruarc has nothing to add for now, simply nodding after the foster ahroun.

Ruarc gets up after Rory takes the guitar. He shifts, hands coming to Rory’s waits, shifting her slightly to the side so her back is more towards him, then he just presses up against her back, strong arms wrapping around. He takes it slowly, as to not startle the other ahroun, or push if she moves away from him. If she lets him, he places his hands over hers, guiding her fings to the first position.

“Alrigh’ lass. This is the first.”
He guides her fingers, playing the note two times, then moves on to the next. He takes his time, showing her all five notes in that fashion before moving back from her, standing and moving to crouch in front of her, looking at the woman with an encouraging smile and nod.
“There ye go lass… Try I’ now.”

[Theron Locke] Yes that is the plan, our time away has enabled us to become even closer, also to resolve some lingering issues. Now that I have successfully challenged for rank, I feel I am in a better position to challenge for her.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Adamidas] Somewhere, something pops. The Gauntlet doesn't shred so much as it bends, moves and she pops through. Why she was on the other side, however, isn't important. What a woman does in the privacy of her own shared room isn't really important. Or, for that matter, anyone's damned business.

What does matter, though, is that she's headed to the common room. One door opens, and another closes. Literally. People come in and out of this place; since the Badasses took over patrol, Adam's become more aware of people coming and going.

it's the sound of voices, one that's unfamiliar, that brings her out. Attire is comfortable. Shorts, tank top. No shoes. She's got bone in her hair. Or it might be talc (it's bone. She's a Black Fury. She takes her warpaint seriously, even if there is only one other Fury here.)

So, she heads to the common room, a little under five and a half feet tall and a little messy. It works.

[Rory] She falls very, very still as he comes up behind her, pressing against her, and only he can feel the slight tremble of trepidation as he lays his hands over hers. She has not known much kindness - any kindness - before coming to Chicago, and a lifetime of pain has taught her to expect it. To accept it as her due. Chicago has been different, and strange and that is something frightening in and of itself... and she still fears the other shoe will drop anytime now.

But it doesn't fall right now. Right now, she lets him guide her fingers, her brow furrowing in concentration as she strives to remember every little nuance of what he shows her. He helps her play each note two times, showing her each of the five required.. then he moves away [and she breathes again] and crouches before her [and she forgets once more] and encourages her to try on her own.

A shaky breath, and then she tries, surprising herself that while she struggles and it is obvious that she does, and with a little help on the hardest of the five, she manages to at least get them all right, once.

[Ruarc o'Conaill] ”Ve’y good lass. Ye go’th’ hang o’ it now.”
He offers her that open and friendly smile once more. She is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there is no telling when it will. After all, no one has told the newcomer Rory’s birth yet, and she certainly looks healthy. Her speech is hardly worth noticing in a place such as this where dialects mix and match freely.

“Now, wha’ ye need tae do I’ practice. Practice an’ practice some more. Now ye got the tools fer th’ job. Is jus’ a matte’ o’learnin how tae use ‘em. So, fer now… Keep th’ guitar, and keep tae practice wheneve’ ye get a chance. Ye’ll be playin like a rocksta’ in nae time lass.”

[Rory] She flushes and blushes bright at his praise, even though she knows it wasn't that good, and she's far from having the hang of it at all. It will take practice, and she doesn't have the...

her eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously "Keep it? But... is yours..." not even 'for now' would she dare take something so valuable...

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] I agree, Lukas says simply. And hopefully proving yourself resourceful enough to survive and succeed thus far will make Thoth look more favorably on your challenge as well. Best of luck to you, brother. Hopefully if all goes well you'll bring her to Dani&+269;ka's for that dinner.
to Theron Locke

[Ruarc o'Conaill] ”’is al’ight lass. I trust ye tae take good care o’ it. Ye need it tae practice with after all, don’t ye?”
Said with that easy grin of his. He straightens up, then moves to sit back down in the recliner next to Rory, leaning back.

“Ye are family afte’ all. If’n I cannae trust ye with me guitar, how would ye expect me tae trust ye at me side in battle? Nae, nae argument. Keep it fer now, and I expect ye to be improved enough tae play the first verse in a week o’ two.”

He glances down at his big bag, then back to rory with that smile still present.
“’sides, I still got th’ pipes ‘n flutes tae play, so I’s nae like ye are takin me only instrument.”

[Ruarc o'Conaill] (Add, if Adamidas actually enters the common room)
Ruarc looks up as Adamidas enters, his brows slightly raised, but offering the diminuative woman a friendly enough smile.

[Rory] She's... shocked, really. Stunned to say the least, even as she claims her family, and that he trusts her for that simple reason. He tells her no arguing, and she snaps her mouth shut obediently. Where she held the guitar carefully before, she now holds it as if it is something more precious than gold, more priceless than the finest gift one could imagine - she holds his trust in her hands, and she silently vows not to violate that.

He settles back into the chair, and leans back, and she remains perched on his armrest, a look of fierce determination on her face - her lower lip between her teeth, her brow furrowed - as she goes through the notes again. After all, he said practice whenever she could - now is as good a time as any.

[Theron Locke] Theron nods to his brother's agreement Hopefully, but I will cross any bridges when and where I encounter them. Thanks Lukas... and that is the plan but we will see. Gina is still grieving for Lonna, it may be hard for her to sit there and be reminded of the choice I made. But I remain hopeful she will find her place among us in time.
to Lukas Wyrmbreaker

[Adamidas] She comes back out, and looks at the people in the room. She knows Rory, sort of. They haven't shared hotdogs together or tangoed or anything, but she recognizes Rory. she comes out in time to... well... see people. One she recognizes, one she doesn't. And it's the overwhelming feeling of Stag's presence that keeps her attention. The place is run and owned by their kin. She wonders, briefly, about things. Little things, big things, things that make no -

Oh, hey, there's a person smiling.

So, she waves.

"Hi, haven't seen you before," she says. She's personable.

[Theron Locke] Theron seemingly distracted from the goings on in the common room. His eyes glazed and seemingly distant as if his mind was elsewhere. Turns and heads back down the corridor towards his room.

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] Me too, Lukas replies simply -- and for a time, at least, the totemlink lapses to silence.
to Theron Locke

[Lukas Wyrmbreaker] [thanks for the play, folks!]